


Just a Little While Longer (I'll Keep Waiting for a Reason to Smile)

by laurenamberly



Series: Grin and Bear it (Until You Can't Any Longer) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Literally Everyone), Alternate Universe - High School, Anna Acts Like She Knows What She's Talking About, Annoyed Castiel (Supernatural), Awkward Flirting, But She's Clueless, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel Hates Horror Movies, Castiel is a Milton (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Coming Out, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves Disney, Dean Winchester Loves Pie, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Diners, Everyone Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, First Love, Gay, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Movie Night, Multi, Musician Castiel (Supernatural), Mutual Pining, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sarcastic Castiel, Shy Castiel, Shy Dean Winchester, Sledding, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Tired Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-09 22:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenamberly/pseuds/laurenamberly
Summary: Castiel is falling for Dean Winchester.Of course, that was kind of obvious - in the past months they've spent talking and fanboying and laughing and having their private movie nights and diner excursions, they clicked.  Everybody knows that Castiel and Dean aren't just friends.Except.  They are.  Just friends, that is.Which - shut up, okay?  Castiel is working on it; he knows what he's doing!(Okay, he hasno fucking cluewhat he's doing.)





	Just a Little While Longer (I'll Keep Waiting for a Reason to Smile)

**Author's Note:**

> well hi there.  
> Thank you so much to anyone who commented on my previous fic in this series, will comment on that fic, or will comment on this one. Thank you to anybody who pressed 'kudos,' or to anyone who even opened up this document.  
> Thank you, truly. I've been writing Destiel fics for years - probably 6 years now, fuck - for just myself. Largely, I was too shy to post a lot of them, or ideas would just get scrapped quicker than I could produce them. When I write stories, I like to be sure that I'm happy with it before I share it with anybody.  
> Here I am now, 18 years old, and I want to be a writer. I fully and completely credit fanfiction - the 'greatest love story ever told,' Dean and Castiel, the non-canon romance that I've always adored - with shaping my writing ability. Without these two, I would probably not want to be an author. But I do. I have grown to love making their characters into my own fashion, keeping in key characteristics and inserting some choices of my own.  
> Anyway, sorry I'm rambling. But thank you. On behalf of that awkward, closeted young girl who was learning what it meant to become attached to her creations and characters - thank you. You, the reader, are a big part of this whole process (even if 99% of you didn't read this far, lol).

Castiel stirred awake to the sound of Samuel L. Jackson shouting. Vaguely, he realized there was a computer screen lying beyond his feet at the end of the bed. As he lifted his head to get a look at the too-bright screen in the pitch-black room, he heard the breathing next to him – and _froze_.  


Dean Winchester was still sleeping soundly. He was lying on his back, his head curled towards his shoulder in Castiel’s direction. His face was peaceful, with his mouth open and just barely drooling onto his pillow.  


As it occurred to Castiel that they had fallen asleep in Dean’s bed together, his face reddened against his own will. He looked away from Dean quickly, pulling himself upright in the bed and looking around. It was dark in the room, and there was a blanket on the two of them that he hadn’t remembered. Perhaps Dean had gotten cold?  


The idea of Dean being cold gave him the sudden urge to wrap his arms around his – friend? – and keep him warm. He knew it was stupid, of course. Ever since he’d realized his non-platonic feelings for Dean (which he was almost certain were mutual), he’d become uncomfortably protective.  


Castiel was unsure how to detangle himself from the blankets on the bed. His side was pressed against the wall, meaning that he would somehow have to maneuver himself over Dean if he was going to stand up. Puzzled, he looked at Dean – painfully aware of how stuck he was.  


Being ‘stuck’ did have its upsides, though. Dean looked cute when he was asleep. He looked cute _all the time_ , really, but each time Castiel saw him, his heart would swell, and he was absolutely certain that Dean looked even cuter and more handsome and more _Dean_.  


It was kind of funny, really, how much Dean Winchester used to piss him off. He recalled when he used to avoid and ignore him with regret. He wondered how Dean ever looked past how stubborn he was. Why Dean ever bothered with him was beyond him, but he was glad for it, nonetheless. Through the months they had spent together, they truly had a more profound bond than ever. It was almost –  


“ _JESUS CHRIST!_ ” cried Dean, startling so badly and so suddenly that he flailed right off the bed, falling onto the floor with a dull _thud_. “Ow – ow, ow, _fuck_ – fuck – !”  


“Oh – Dean! What just – !”  


“Dude!” squawked Dean, sitting up and rubbing his bleary eyes. “Were you watching me sleep?”  


“I – _No._ ”  


“Fuck sake, Cas.” Dean wasn’t so grumpy, though, the more time passed. He slowly started to laugh, even, while Castiel panicked on the bed. “That was really creepy, man.”  


“I was not – being _creepy,_ ” insisted Castiel vehemently. “I was – I was just – I wasn’t specifically _staring at you_ , it – I wasn’t – !”  


“Ooookay, Cas.”  


“ _Dean,_ ” snapped Castiel. “Now you’re just being insufferable. I was not ‘staring at you.’”  


“I said ‘okay,’ Cas.”  


“You – are _very_ annoying,” said Castiel decidedly. He rolled his eyes at the triumph in Dean’s eyes, picking up one of Dean’s pillows and smacking him upside the head with it. “I was _not_.”  


“Jesus,” said Dean, pushing the pillow away during each lazy attempt to hit him. “What did I do to deserve this kind of abuse? _I’m_ the victim here! There I was, minding my own business – when I thought Freddy Kreuger was suddenly in my face!”  


Tiredly, Castiel dropped the pillow back onto the bed. “I don’t know who that is, Dean,” he muttered petulantly.  


“Oh, _dude_ , we gotta watch Nightmare on Elm Street tomorrow!”  


Paling, Castiel gulped. “Is – That sounds like a horror movie.”  


“It is,” said Dean, looking psychotically excited.  


Castiel still couldn’t wrap his head around people like Dean – people who became immeasurably thrilled when it came to suspense and gore in a film. He, on the other hand, tensed up and lost many hours of sleep. “Am I going to be able to sleep after I watch this movie?” asked Castiel. “Or am I going to be yelling at you for scarring me again?”  


“That… Well, hold on,” said Dean, which was as guilty of an admission as he could ever manage.  


“That’s a ‘no,’” said Castiel. “You basically just agreed that I am going to lose sleep if I watch this movie with you. _Why_ do you want me to watch it?”  


“‘Cause it’s Freddy Kreuger!” cried Dean. “Plus, you’re fun. Especially when you’re scared shitless from my favorite movies.”  


_Oh, God._ “One of your favorites?” squawked Castiel. “Dean, that means it’s going to be _horrible!_ ”  


“Hey, I have great taste!”  


“Your taste is violent!” barked Castiel. “Unless, of course, you’re talking about your television taste. Because _that_ is not ‘great.’”  


“ _Fuck you,_ ” Dean said, plopping onto the bed again and picking up the same pillow Castiel had used, only to pummel Castiel instead. “Doctor – Sexy – is – _awesome._ ”  


Castiel smacked the pillow away, shoving at Dean with a laugh. “You only like him because you think he’s hot!”  


Mouth falling open in shock, Dean smacked Castiel with the pillow – harder, this time, and making Castiel burst out laughing. “Fuck off!” said Dean, entirely exasperated. “You’re just jealous.”  


“Hmm. Of?” asked Castiel, still laughing – until an awkward silence passed over them. Dean seemed at a loss for an answer, which left Castiel to many assumptions. Namely, the obvious nature of his affections for Dean.  


Things became suddenly quiet. Dean fiddled with the end of his pillow, placing it behind him and looking around the room. “Hey,” he said suddenly, “did you turn off the light?”  


“No,” said Castiel, tilting his head curiously. “I was thinking the same thing. We didn’t have the blanket before, either.”  


“Shit,” said Dean. “Ellen must’ve – Ah, crap.”  


“What’s wrong?”  


“Nothing,” Dean said, “just – You don’t have to worry about it, Cas. It’s – ,” He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with a slightly pained smile. “It’s no problem.”  


“Are – are you sure?”  


“Yeah,” said Dean. Then, noticing the computer screen with a horrified look on his face, he gasped. “ _No,_ it’s not fine! Dude, I slept through Pulp Fiction!”  


“Oh. So did I, if it helps.”  


The squeaking screech Dean made had Castiel laughing a bit too much. “It’s not funny!” said Dean. “Okay, man – here’s how we’re gonna do this: Nightmare on Elm Street, then Kill Bill, then Monty Python, and _then_ back to Pulp Fiction. Sound good?”  


“If it means that much to you,” agreed Castiel. “Honestly, I don’t know what half of the words you just used mean, but – alright. Is Kill Bill or the – um – python movie violent?”  


“Uhh. Well, Kill Bill is Kill Bill,” said Dean, being absolutely _no help_ whatsoever. “It’s about a chick with a vendetta against a bunch of people who played a role in the murder of her would-be family. And Monty Python is, like, a classic nerd-comedy. It’s, ah, about King Arthur. You know, with the Knights of the Round Table?”  


“So,” surmised Castiel, “Elm Street and Kill Bill will give me nightmares, but King Arthur is safe. Okay. Thank you for the warning.”  


“Oh, grow up, you big baby.” Finding Castiel pouting, Dean nudged him lightly. “Hey, buddy. Worst comes to worst and you’re shitting your pants, don’t worry. I’ll be right here the whole time.”  


Castiel regarded Dean sourly. “Yes,” he muttered, “until you take a ‘short bathroom break’ and end up leaving me alone for an _hour._ ”  


“Okay, man, I was gone for _forty minutes_ because Ellen needed me to take out the garbage and run to the store!” said Dean. “It – It was poor judgment on my part to – to leave you alone during Evil Dead, and I get that, but – you know – _we learn from our mistakes._ ”  


“If you ever disappear when I’m watching a horror movie ever again,” growled Castiel, “I will _end you._ ”  


“I am so scared,” said Dean robotically, of course earning another smack in the face with the pillow. “Fuck – dude, come on!” 

  


Castiel’s insomnia was entirely Dean’s fault. Specifically, the horror movies that Dean forced him to watch were at fault – but he preferred to just blame Dean. He couldn’t yell at the movie, so Dean was simply a much better alternative.  


The night they watched Nightmare on Elm Street, it was Saturday. As it turned out, Saturday was _horrible night_ to watch a movie about a glorified REM-cycle serial killer. Castiel couldn’t sleep at all, which was a problem since he was supposed to be getting up early the next day. Sunday meant church – which meant making pleasantries with the rest of the congregation. Also, since he had such close ties to the pastor’s family (i.e. Gabriel), he was usually enlisted in helping clean up the church after each service.  


Castiel dreaded the morning almost as much as he dreaded sleep. It wasn’t as if he could complain to his family about his sleeping problems; his mother would just scold him for making ‘poor choices’ when it came to his Saturday night, blaming him for going through with the movie – and his father would probably blame Dean, or so it would seem.  


By midnight, Castiel blinked, wide-awake, into the darkness of his bedroom. He kept seeing figures in the shadows in the corner of his eye – resulting in his springing up from the bed and rushing to the light, then hurrying out into the living room and trying to catch his breath.  


He found his mother sitting at the dining room table, a series of papers unfurled all over the table. She was writing in the notebook that she and Zachariah reserved for their money tracking. As she wrote in an amount, she caught Castiel’s movement and looked up at him.  


“What are you doing up?” she asked, watching him round the kitchen suspiciously.  


“I can’t sleep,” he muttered, moving to the cabinets where they kept the glasses. He ambled around for a glass of water, frowning.  


“You look tired,” Naomi said, looking down at her notebook and the checkbook and writing something in. “You should try to sleep.”  


“I… really can’t.”  


“What’s the problem?”  


Castiel shrugged. “I’m fine, just – scared.”  


At this, his mother looked up, her eyes softening considerably. “You’re _scared?_ ” she echoed. “What brought this on?”  


“I – I may have watched a movie that – that was… a bit scary.”  


“Which one?”  


“Um…”  


“Castiel,” she insisted, exasperated. “Which one?”  


And so, he told her. He explained how Dean wanted to very much watch Nightmare on Elm Street with him, leading to his sleep’s end. “Sorry.”  


“For what?” she asked, entirely confused.  


“I mean – I know you don’t really approve of your children watching that sort of thing.”  


Naomi shrugged, tossing what looked like an opened bill onto the table. “Well, I can’t protect you forever,” she admitted. “Plus, you’re plenty old enough to decide how you see the world, aren’t you? It’s not like I didn’t raise a responsible young man.”  


“I… guess?”  


“But – your sisters still aren’t going anywhere near those sorts of things,” insisted Naomi. “They’re too young, and I don’t want it influencing them.”  


Castiel wasn’t sure how firmly he believed in his mother’s notion that violent films caused violence. He knew that Dean and Charlie, two of the nicest people he knew, were obsessed with all kinds of movies like that. Of course, he wasn’t about to say this to his mother – contradicting her opinion was a bit of a no-no. “Believe me, I wouldn’t wish this on them. I don’t know how I’m going to get up tomorrow morning.”  


“Well,” said Naomi, “you’re a responsible young man who chose to watch a scary movie. I suggest that you do the responsible thing and deal with that decision.” She stood from her spot, walking over to him and giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, Honey Bee.”  


He resisted the urge to scowl at her. “Yeah,” he grumbled, “good night, Mom.”  


He was left by his lonesome, staring at a glass of water. Behind him, the coffee machine’s light blinked red and blue, and the fridge hummed quietly. Now that he was alone, it was as if every machine was making some noise. It was – actually, it was kind of scary.  


“I am going to kill Dean Winchester,” he muttered to himself, just before taking a swig of his water and trudging his way back to his bedroom. As he tucked himself into bed, he figured – offhandedly – that nobody would ever need to know that he was a sixteen-year-old going to bed with the lights on. 

The trouble was not waking up, Castiel realized. The real, mind-boggling issue was the fact that he couldn’t _stay awake._ He sat in the pews of their church, his eyes drooping – and then popping open, and then drooping – and then popping open, over and over.  


After Chuck said his piece and the choir sang their bit, the congregation was released. Castiel was thankful for all but five seconds.  


“Hey,” he said to his father, “I’m going to head to the car, and – ,”  


_And probably sleep for a week,_ his mind supplied. But just before he could tell either of his parents that he needed the car keys, it was obviously the perfect moment for Bartholomew Milton, Castiel’s uncle, to say something about all of them going out to lunch and then to the mall. And, _of course,_ his parents were nothing but gracious about the invitation.  


As the family piled into their car together, Castiel plopped his head against the window and tried – _prayed_ – to get at least a few moments of peace.  


“Hey, Cassy,” his little sister said, pulling at his arm and trying to get his attention. “Do you think I should take the butterfly clips out of my hair? Anna says they make me look like a little kid.”  


Castiel peeled his eyes opened and looked at Hannah, who was playing with her black hair and the colorful clips there. “You… you look fine,” he said. “I’m trying to – ,”  


“That means I look stupid!” cried Hannah, utterly heartbroken. She leaned up to the front seat, right up to their parents. “Mommy, I want to fix my hair!”  


“Hannah, get _back_ into the back seat,” snapped Zachariah.  


“But Anna and Cassy think my hair looks bad!”  


“Both of you apologize to your sister,” said Naomi. “She looks _lovely._ Tell her so.”  


Castiel sputtered pathetically. “I – I never – ,”  


“You always used to put me in those clips!” said Anna. “But they’re so dorky!”  


“They are not ‘dorky!’” insisted Naomi. “Anna, tell Hannah you’re sorry and that she looks beautiful! Just because your tastes have changed does _not_ mean – !”  


“Mooooom!” shouted Hannah. “Anna keeps pushing me!”  


“I _did not!_ ” cried Anna. “She’s being so annoying! Oh, my God, make her _shut up!_ ”  


“Both of you, _stop it!_ ” snapped Naomi. “Stop it right now or we’re not going out with your aunt and uncle! I’m not going to have the two of you acting like this!”  


Neither heeded their mother – instead, they pushed each other – “You are _such a jerk!_ ” – the entire ride to lunch with their Uncle Bartholomew – “I – hate – you!”  


Castiel briefly contemplated smashing his head against the side of the car window. Before he could truly entertain the genius of the idea, though, they arrived at their destination. Castiel wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or upset; on the one hand, Anna and Hannah were no longer in a small space with him, but, on the other, he was now exempt from any attempts to sleep.  


Castiel was shocked, of course, when he peered out the window and found the _Diner_ outside. _His and Dean’s diner._ The one they always went to when they were hungry, or when Castiel was being bitchy about coffee and Dean was forced to appease him. It was the diner with the waiters and waitresses who knew the two by name.  


“What – what are we doing here?” squeaked Castiel, frozen as the rest of his family hopped out of their car. “Wait – what are – ?”  


“We’re getting lunch,” said Naomi, as if this was the most self-explanatory thing in the world. “Come on, your uncle’s probably already inside.”  


“I don’t see his car,” said Zachariah absently.  


“ _Well_ ,” said Naomi impatiently, “we should get a table anyway.”  


“I wasn’t – Why do you assume I was being rude? I _wasn’t._ ”  


“I didn’t _say_ you were being rude. I’m just – saying to our lovely children,” said Naomi tersely, “that we _need to get a table._ ”  


“Alright,” said Zachariah, “but that doesn’t mean – “  


Castiel desperately did not want to go into their diner with his family. It just – it wasn’t _right._ He felt uncomfortable – _naked_ – even looking at the diner without the familiar rumble of Baby’s engine. Without Dean’s stupid smile on his face, looking at Castiel while he said something potentially offensive and hilarious. “Is – Do you think we could go somewhere else?”  


“What?” said his mother. “No – your uncle is already on his way.”  


“But – ,”  


“Come on, Castiel,” said Naomi. “We’re getting a table.”  


No matter what he tried to insist, it seemed inevitable. Castiel let himself be brought to the diner, where he immediately recognized about eighty percent of the staff, along with the establishment’s frequent fliers (such as Dean and himself). He managed to stand in the back while his family bickered, waiting to be sat at a table.  


As fate would have it, the man who sat them at their table was an acquaintance of his. He didn’t say anything to Castiel specifically, but he did smile and say that it was nice to see him again.  


“You know that guy?” asked Anna, looking at her brother curiously.  


“Oh – um, sort of. I’ve been here before.”  


“No, we haven’t,” she insisted.  


“Yes, well, I don’t go _everywhere_ with you, do I?” he snapped.  


Anna rolled her eyes. Just as their uncle arrived at their table and took a seat with his wife Rachel, who sat beside Castiel and immediately began with small-talk.  


“So, Castiel,” his aunt said, placing her purse under her seat and smiling. “How’s school?”  


“Oh, it’s – it’s good,” he said, ignoring the urge to fidget.  


She hummed quietly. “Do you have any favorite subjects?”  


“Uh – not really?” he said. “Maybe music – I’m in choir.”  


Rachel tilted her head curiously. “Well, I mean as a student,” she said. “Music is more of a hobby, isn’t it?”  


Next to her, Bartholomew laughed. “Not for Castiel, here,” he said, nodding to his nephew with a playful smile. “He wants to be _famous_ someday.”  


“Aww,” said Rachel. “Really?”  


“I – ?” Castiel shook his head, taking up the glass of water he had been helpfully supplied with and taking a large sip. “I don’t, um. I don’t want to be famous.”  


“What?” said Bartholomew. “It used to be all you ever talked about!”  


“When I was Anna’s age,” insisted Castiel. “Now I think I’ll probably just be a teacher.”  


“Oh?” said Rachel. “What do you want to teach? I could see you being an English teacher!”  


“I – Music,” he said, “actually. Um.” He rubbed his eyes, laughing nervously. “Sorry, I’m – I’m really tired.”  


Naomi cleared her throat, getting everyone’s attention. “Actually,” she said to her brother-in-law, “Castiel is very talented. He’s even going to be singing the National Anthem at an event at school soon! He was _hand-picked!_ ”  


_Oh, Mom,_ he cried internally, _oh, Mom, no._  


“Really?” said Rachel. “Oh, gosh, that is impressive! When is it? What’s it for?”  


Naomi gestured vaguely. “Well, you know how school functions work,” she said. “They have a big event, and then they always start it off with that. But I think it’s honestly a much bigger deal than either of us realized – he’s always _practicing._ I didn’t ever notice how much effort goes into performances!”  


“Well, everyone knows the National Anthem,” insisted Bartholomew. “It can’t be _that_ hard.”  


“He’s always trying to make it sound better,” said Naomi proudly. “You’d be surprised how dedicated those music students are to perfecting things – they make something, and they want to be _sure_ that they can be proud of it, in the end. Of course, they’re never truly satisfied. I can’t even count how many times _this one_ – ,” she nudged Castiel playfully under the table and everybody laughed. “ – convinces himself that he could have done better, even when he spends most of his time making it perfect!”  


Bartholomew laughed. “That sounds fun,” he said, looking at Castiel appraisingly. “Gosh, I can’t unsee you as a famous actor or singer. You used to be so _sure._ It was adorable.”  


Their waitress arrived at table at that moment – it was a woman named Pamela, who often took Dean’s and Castiel’s orders. She was fond of them both – so fond, in fact, that she wasn’t at all afraid to tease them about their obviously romantic relationship (or lack thereof).  


“Hello there,” she said, folding back her little notepad, “my name is Pam, I will be your server for this evening…” Just as she was going through a list of specials, her eyes landed on Castiel. Immediately, her face brightened and she jumped. “Aw, hey, hon! Why didn’t you say anything?”  


“H-hello, Pam,” he said, his face burning as his family looked between himself and the waitress. “How are you?”  


“I’m good, I’m good,” she said, positively beaming. Then, startling, she looked at the group around him. “Hold on, is this your _family?_ ”  


Naomi looked reasonably puzzled by the waitress’s fixation on her son. “Um. Yes, we are,” she said, looking at Castiel with concern. “Um. If you don’t mind my asking, how do you know my son?”  


“Oh, him?” said Pam, giggling. “Castiel is one of the best frequent fliers this place has! He and Dean are always _very_ nice to me.”  


“Oh,” said Naomi, looking at Castiel once more. “You – come here a lot? With… Dean Winchester?”  


“They’re hilarious, and complete sweethearts,” said Pam, her voice sincere. “Honestly, you raised a really good kid. He also has very good taste; that Dean Winchester isn’t just a dish, he’s also one helluva kid.”  


“Mommy,” said Hannah, tugging at Naomi’s arm and completely interrupting the shocked silence that had come over the table, “I have to pee.”  


“Oh, jeez,” said Pam, grinning at Castiel and his bright red face. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, cutie. I’ll shut up about it. Does anyone have any drinks they’d like me to take? Or, if you’re ready, I can take your order – but no rush, obviously.”  


She walked away with their orders, taking Castiel’s sanity with her. The table was silent for all but Hannah, pulling at her mother to try to convey the most desperate of messages.  


“Well,” said Naomi, breaking the silence and giving an awkward laugh, “she certainly likes you, Castiel, doesn’t she?”  


Castiel nodded quickly, playing with the condensation on his glass of water and trying not to show fear. “Yes,” he said, “she is very nice. All of the staff here are very nice.”  


“You come here a lot, then?” asked Rachel curiously. “With your – _friend?_ ”  


Castiel blanked on how to respond – her tone was nothing if not critical, flooring him entirely. How was he supposed to answer her when she had just posed the question so accusingly?  


“Castiel does like spending time with his friend, Dean,” agreed Naomi, between her son and sister-in-law carefully. “They’re good friends. Always watching movies together and going out. It’s sweet, really.”  


“You let your son spend his time like that?” asked Rachel, puzzled.  


Naomi pursed her lips. As Hannah continued to interrupt, though, she looked directly at Castiel – who startled – and smiled. “Honey Bee, do you mind taking your sister to the bathroom?”  


“I – ?” Castiel looked between his mother and his aunt, horrified. “I – I don’t – Um – “  


“ _Now,_ Castiel.”  


“R-right.” He pushed himself out of his seat, gesturing to Hannah and offering his hand. “C’mon, Hannah. Let’s go.”  


“Take Anna with you,” Naomi told him.  


“I don’t have to go to the bathroom,” said Anna, looking vaguely irritated – only to hop off her chair when she found both of their parents glowering at her.  


Together, the three siblings wandered to the side of the diner where the restrooms lay. Castiel and Anna stood outside while Hannah went into ladies’ room.  


“Why are they mad that the waitress knows you?” asked Anna, looking at Castiel suspiciously.  


Castiel fidgeted uncomfortably, his eyes stuck on the group across the room. He could see his parents becoming more frustrated, and Bartholomew and Rachel arguing about – something. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out. “U-um. Nothing. It’s nothing.”  


“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” retorted Anna. “Everything seemed like it was okay until they mentioned Dean. What did he do that’s so bad?”  


“He – he didn’t _do_ anything, Anna,” grumbled Castiel. “Really.”  


“Well, then what did _you_ do?”  


“Nothing!”  


“Then why are they all upset?” demanded Anna. “That doesn’t make any sense! How come you’re not telling me – ?”  


“I’m telling you that we _didn’t do anything,_ ” said Castiel, “but they’re mad anyway. That’s _all._ Now stop bringing it up, okay? I don’t want to talk about it!”  


“Talk about what?” uttered Hannah’s quiet voice, as she peered over her older siblings’ shoulders. “My legs are tired, Cassy.”  


“Sorry,” he said, not very sorry at all. He looked once more at the table. The adults looked like they were in the midst of a heated discussion. “H-hey, um – what do you guys want to talk about?”  


“Uuuum. Aren’t we going back to the table?”  


“N-no,” said Castiel hurriedly, “not yet.”  


Hannah shrugged, accepting her big brother’s word as law. “Okay,” she said, reaching up for Castiel’s hand and clasping it. She leaned against the wall with him, while Anna stared at them both in shock.  


“What’s wrong with you two?” asked Anna. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why Mom got so mad all of the sudden? Even _Dad_ looked uncomfortable!”  


Hannah shrugged. Then, her eyes lighting, she jumped. “Ooh!” she said, looking up at Castiel. “Cassy, do you think that after lunch we’ll get to go to the mall?”  


“We usually do that when we spend time with Rachel and Bartholomew,” agreed Castiel grudgingly. His mother and aunt had grown particularly fond of bargain shopping, much to his and Zachariah’s displeasure. “What about it?”  


“Can we get cookie cutters?” asked Hannah.  


“We have those at home,” he said. “Why do you even want them, anyway?”  


“To make _cookies,_ ” she said, “duh!”  


“Okay. But why are you making cookies? You’re not allowed to do that unless Mom and Dad know,” he told her.  


“Mommy said that, for the next bake sale at church, she’s gonna let me help her!” said Hannah excitedly. “I wanna make _nice_ cookies.”  


Anna groaned loudly. “That is _it_.”  


“Anna – wait – no, _Anna_ – !”  


His little sister stomped her way to the table, leaving Castiel with Hannah. He watched her approach the table, and – almost immediately after her arrived, the arguing seemed to stop. As he watched closely, though, he could see his father and uncle stewing in their rage; his mother looked as if she was going to start screaming at any second – and his aunt looked more confused than irritated.  


“Cassy?” said Hannah, looking up at him curiously. “What’s wrong with you?”  


“I – ?” He took one look at his sister, contemplating. Then, looking once more at the table of angry adults who had most likely just been talking about him, he steeled himself. “There’s – There’s absolutely _nothing_ wrong with me. Come on, let’s go back to the table. Okay?”  


Hannah shrugged, perfectly innocent, and let her big brother lead her to the table again.  


“Castiel,” his mother said tightly, “do you mind taking your sisters for a moment?”  


“No,” he said flatly. “It’s fine.”  


Both his parents – and his sisters, who were more confused than ever – gawked at him. “It – ?” His mother blinked owlishly. “You don’t want to…?”  


“I’m thirsty,” he said sharply, taking a sip from his water and turning to smile – quite intentionally – to his aunt beside him. “Hi.”  


“Hello,” his aunt said, clearly uncomfortable.  


The table was silent again. Anna, sensing something tense but – alas – unable to understand, cleared her throat. “I – I got a one-hundred on an algebra test the other day,” she offered.  


“Oh, that’s lovely,” said Uncle Bart, smiling at her with pride. “You’re quite the smart young girl, Anna.”  


“I – Yeah, I know. I mean – thanks.”  


“And what do you want to be when you grow up?” asked Bartholomew.  


Anna hummed quietly. “Ummm. I dunno. Maybe an actress?”  


“Oh,” chuckled Bartholomew, “you take after your brother, huh?”  


“Let’s hope not,” said Rachel helpfully, which –  


“ _Okay,_ ” said Naomi loudly, “that’s it. You do _not_ talk about my son like that. Alright? You – you just _don’t._ ”  


“I was only – !”  


“Zachariah,” hissed Naomi, glaring at her husband, willing him into some papa-bear defense mode that Zachariah seemed (honestly) quite alright with.  


“How about you let my wife and I decide how to treat our own son, alright?” said Zachariah. “ _Our son,_ not yours. You can deal with things your own way, when you have your own kid, God bless the poor thing. Until then, you _zip_ it. Okay?”  


“ _Hey,_ ” said Bartholomew, “Zach – don’t talk to my wife like that!”  


“Don’t let your _wife_ talk to my _daughter_ like that!” snapped Zachariah. “Saying to my ten-year-old, about my own son? Really?”  


“She wasn’t being serious!”  


“I was kidding!” agreed Rachel, which was ill-received.  


“Don’t make jokes about my son’s life, okay? Are we clear on that? Because – _respectfully_ – if you can shut up about that, then we’ll all get along _great._ ”  


“Thank you,” muttered Naomi, calming by a fraction when no further response met Zachariah’s instructions. “ _Alright._ Moving on.”  


Bartholomew cleared his throat – pointedly glaring at Naomi – and looked once more at a very worried Anna. “Anyway. You were saying, about acting?”  


Anna looked between the adults – and then at her big brother, who was very specifically taking large gulps of his water as he quite decidedly _did not stand up and leave the table_ during the entirety of their conversation about him. “U-um,” she stuttered, “I was – I was also kinda thinkin’ about being, like – like a chef, or something.”  


“That sounds nice,” said Bartholomew kindly. “Speaking of chefs, I’m starved. Jeez. Hope the food will be coming out soon.”  


And – speak of the Devil – not a moment later, their food had arrived. Castiel was at least grateful for that small blessing; stuffing their faces meant less time for conversation. By the time they were all finished, all the water he had drank was starting to catch up to him. While his family convened outside in the parking lot, he excused himself to the bathroom – only to find, when he came back, that Bartholomew and Rachel were gone, without having said goodbye to him.  


“Did – did they leave?” he asked, justifiably startled. His uncle and his aunt were among the closer relatives they had. Zachariah and Bartholomew were close, as brothers, with a few years apart – and Naomi and Rachel got along swimmingly. “What about the mall?”  


“We’re not going to the mall,” said Naomi sharply, opening the front door of their car and getting into the passenger’s seat.  


Castiel got into the car, looking at Anna – who was unusually silent – and then Hannah, who looked as if she had been crying. Immediately, he panicked. “Is – Is everything okay?” he asked his littlest sister, who huffed and shrugged.  


“Dad and Uncle Bart got into a fight. We can’t go to the mall to get my cookie cutters now.”  


“We have cookie cutters at home, sweet pea,” said Naomi. “Or maybe another time.”  


“Another time?” said Hannah. “But the next bake sale is next – “  


“Maybe the next bake sale,” sighed Naomi. “I’m sorry, honey, but – Mommy works a lot. She can’t do everything, you know?”  


“But – but why can’t we go to the mall _now?_ ” asked Hannah. “Just because Dad and Unc – !”  


“Drop it, Hannah. I’m sorry, but we can’t today.”  


“But – but _Mom!_ ” said Hannah. “The bake sale! You _promised_ – !”  


“Your mother told you to _drop it,_ ” said Zachariah, effectively hushing her. Instead of protesting, she just cried – sniffling and rubbing at her eyes as she sobbed.  


Castiel, feeling ridiculously and horribly responsible for ruining everyone’s Sunday, wrapped an arm around his baby sister and tried to at least offer the smallest bit of comfort. She ended up falling asleep against his shoulder midway through the car ride, the cookie cutters and all issues being essentially forgotten. 

  


Castiel wholly expected his parents to discuss it with him. On top of the glaringly obvious familial issues they were bound to have, there was also the matter of his grandparents calling the house all the sudden, less than two days after the problem with Bartholomew and Rachel began. Zachariah seemed exhausted with the whole thing, insisting to his parents that everything was alright between himself and his brother.  


Plus – aside from the matter of his entire family exploding because of him – Zachariah seemed entirely proud of how observant he had been about _certain things,_ and it was severely pissing off Naomi. She had been convinced that Gabriel and Castiel were item for years – and now, a _random boy_ that they didn’t know anything about, was – what? – _dating their son?_  


Yes, Castiel braced himself every time his parents were in the same room with him. He fully expected his father to mutter something condescending about Dean Winchester – or his mother to say something ridiculously supportive, like, “aww, he’s a nice kid.”  


But it never came.  


Instead, Castiel found himself still worrying about it, days later. No matter how much he vented to Gabriel didn’t seem help, either.  


“You know,” said Gabriel, grunting with the effort it took to lift the stack of plastic chairs in the choir room and – loudly – plopping them into their usual spots across the room, “I think – maybe your parents not saying anything about it is a good thing.”  


“How is it a _good thing_ that my family, the most well-adjusted band of hippie Christians, are largely not on speaking terms because of something that has to do with me?”  


“Well – I mean, they’re definitely standing their ground on your behalf.”  


“At what cost?” demanded Castiel. “I – I don’t want this upcoming Easter to be just a dinner with a bunch of homophobic comments thrown at me, and then my parents going ballistic and my _clueless_ little sisters completely unaware of what’s going on!”  


“Yeah, well, Easter’s not for a while,” muttered Gabriel. “You’re all bound to have fixed this by then.”  


“But what if we don’t?”  


“Well – you don’t know that yet,” said Gabriel. “Now, will you help me with these chairs? They’re heavier than they look.”  


The chairs, as it turned out, were not that heavy at all. Gabriel was quite famous in their school for being the one boy who couldn’t complete even a single push-up, which was evident when Castiel picked up almost three times as many stacked chairs as Gabriel and placed them on each of the classroom’s steps. It took Castiel less than half the amount of time to move the same number of chairs around.  


“Well,” said Gabriel, “you’re a dick.”  


“Hey! I helped!”  


“And before that, you were boo-hoo’ing to me about your problems!” snapped Gabriel. “Less complaining, more preparing! We’re gonna have, like, a _billion_ soccer moms in here in a few minutes.”  


Castiel rolled his eyes. “You do realize,” he said, “that I’m supposed to be warming up, not helping you do your job?”  


“This isn’t my job, though!” squawked Gabriel hysterically. “It’s – fucking – _Metatron's_ job! The – the voted-in president of this club, who was supposed to delegate responsibilities to everybody? Yeah, no, that went to _me_ , and I – being completely new to this job – didn’t realize that I need somebody to fix up the department before the performers get here – so, respectfully, shut the fuck up and help me. I am desperate, and you’re not going on for a while. Plus, you’ve practiced that damn song so many times – believe me, you’ve mastered it.”  


“I did not _master_ the National Anthem,” muttered Castiel. “I just – pushed through it, so far. I could still mess up.”  


“Yeah, well – _push through_ some music honor society duties, while you’re at it.”  


As they went out of the band room and into the orchestra room, they repeated the process of moving the chairs that the custodians had put into stacks after the end of the school day. “If the responsibilities as honor society vice president annoy you so much, why did you even run?”  


“I thought it would be fun,” snapped Gabriel. “Which – it was, in the beginning, until after Christmas break, when more than half of the club flaked out. Now – we’re barely a club, and it’s all because of Metatron’s shitty leadership!”  


“He’s graduating this year,” said Castiel offhandedly, lifting a few more chairs and setting them up in their rows. “Why don’t you run to take his place?”  


“Dude, nobody in this club takes me seriously,” insisted Gabriel. “I’m – I’m the goofy guy, you know? What the fuck am I going to say to any of these guys that they don’t know already? I’m not – _visionary_ , or whatever the fuck.”  


“Gabe, it’s a high school club,” said Castiel with a laugh. “There’s not much vision required.”  


“And another thing,” said Gabriel, “is that I just _don’t want to_. I mean – half the time we hold meetings, Metatron doesn’t show up and I have to take his place, and then I’m just – I’m _in charge_ , and I hate it. It’s – it’s like being at church all over again! I don’t want to be the guy people look up to like that, okay? It’s just – it’s not _me_. I can’t handle that kind of pressure, and now this club that I used to be obsessed with is something I hate. ‘Cause _I’m_ in charge, when I don’t care about it enough.”  


“It’s an important job,” insisted Castiel. “You _should_ care. Lots of students really care about this club.”  


“I’m just really not cut out for leadership,” said Gabriel. Then, pausing, he stopped fixing up the chairs and looked directly at Castiel, who startled and looked up. “And, ah – you know, for the record, you just proved the point I wanted to make.”  


“Ah - what point?”  


“I am _so_ not running for president,” said Gabriel, “but _you_ should.”  


Now, that – didn’t quite make sense. “ _What?_ ” said Castiel, squeaking out a laugh. “That’s – that’s completely absurd!”  


“No, it’s not!” barked Gabriel. “You’re – you’re oodles more responsible than I’ll ever be, you know! Plus, you’re one of the best musicians this club even has, hands down.”  


“That’s – that’s not true.”  


“You’re organized,” continued Gabriel, apparently giving in to a very well thought out rant he had been considering for a while now. “And I’m talking, like, multi-colored pens and post-its in your agenda book kind of organized! Not to mention that everybody in the music department respects you as if you’re a teacher!”  


“They do not – !”  


“When our choirmaster is late for the bell,” insisted Gabriel, “ _you_ go up to the piano, play a chord, and warm everybody up. They _listen to you_ , Cassy!”  


“They’re just – pitying! Or being nice! They won’t actually listen to any professional input I’d make!” insisted Castiel. “They just know that I want to be a teacher!”  


“No, dude, they know that you’re probably one of the most talented people who will ever graduate from this high school,” said Gabriel. “And, you know what? I get that you’ve conditioned yourself to _say_ that you want an education degree, but – _fuck that,_ man. You could _make it._ And I mean, like, Hollywood or Broadway kind of ‘make it.’ You have more talent in you than literally anybody I’ve ever met.”  


Castiel was shocked into silence – leaning against the chair he had put down, gazing at Gabriel fondly. “I – You’re just nice,” he muttered, ducking his head down. “I’m not – I’m not that big of a deal, Gabe.”  


“Yeah, well, you know, Cassy? ‘Those who can’t do, teach.’ And you, my friend, do it better than _anybody._ So why do you want to teach it, when you could be out there, _doing it?_ ”  


Unable to make a reply, Castiel shrugged vaguely. He enjoyed music and acting more than anything – enough that he knew that he would always find his place there. He’d always wanted to use it in life, for a career. Back when he was an impressionable, idealistic child, he would tell everybody that he wanted to be some big, huge star.  


Nowadays, he knew that wasn’t – practical. Becoming a music teacher was a happy medium; he could decide if he wanted to teach high school or college down the line – or maybe he could become a private tutor, teaching vocals or piano. He wasn’t quite sure about that yet.  


Gabriel seemed to relax a bit, the more time passed. Just as he was about to pick up another chair, the wooden double doors to the orchestra room opened – revealing one of their music honor society classmates, Kali, in her cheerleading uniform.  


She strutted into the room with her cello, looking at Gabriel with something akin to amusement. “Hey, you two,” she said, placing her instrument down in the corner. “Need some help?”  


“You’re here early,” said Gabriel, staring at her with mild worry.  


“I had cheer practice. I have a black dress in my bag. Didn’t have enough time to go home.” Kali picked up a few chairs (again, more than Gabriel could) and placed them down in their respective areas. 

“Why, do you not want me here?”  


“I – no,” he said grudgingly, “we need the help, but…”  


“But Castiel not warming up before his solo brings you some sadistic joy?”  


“I – _what – no!_ ”  


Rolling her eyes at Gabriel’s sputtering, Kali looked over at Castiel. She was almost smiling – something about Gabriel’s pathetic mutterings making her laugh. “Go on,” she said. “I can take it from here.”  


“You’re – you’re sure?”  


“Absolutely. Go into the choir room; it’s still empty and there’s a piano in there.”  


Castiel took a breath, nodding. “Right,” he said. “You’re right, I should – Thank you.” He picked up his blazer from the table in the corner of the room, heading for the doors.  


“Oh, and Castiel?”  


He turned.  


Kali was pulling her hair out of the high ponytail it had been in during cheer practice. “You’d have my vote.”  


Gabriel’s head snapped up, seemingly shocked by her agreeing with him in any capacity. Castiel, meanwhile, blushed and nodded. “Um. Thanks, Kali.”  


“Sure.” Kali then glanced at Gabriel, who was gaping at her. “Oh, my God. Why are you looking at me like that? I can’t say one thing without you acting like an idiot, can I?”  


“Hey!” barked Gabriel. “I am not an idiot!”  


“Oooh, yeah. You’re not.”  


“I – Just shut up and keep stacking chairs!”  


“Sorry, did you just _order me?_ ” Castiel overheard as he left the orchestra room. “I know you’re not _that stupid_ , Shurley.”  


“Don’t call me Shurley!” snapped Gabriel. “Why the fuck are you helping me if you’re just going to be a pain in the ass the entire time, huh?”  


“Maybe I like seeing you in pain.”  


“Oh, for – _CASSY,_ COME BACK!” 

  


The night after Castiel sang the National Anthem in front of their entire school, it was a snow day. It was _perfect_ snow day, really – the storm began on Thursday night, going into Friday morning. By three o’clock in the AM, school was cancelled for the entire district, beginning a three-day weekend.  


When Dean called and asked if Castiel wanted to have a whole day of watching movies together, Castiel was quick to agree. His parents’ one condition, though, was that Dean didn’t drive. It was a blizzard – one that was prone to black ice and slippery roadways.  


“It’s not that we don’t trust him,” said Naomi tersely, “it’s that we don’t trust _other people_. They’ll drive recklessly, and it’ll be a whole catastrophe. _No._ If it really means that much to you two that you spend this day together, then you can brave the snow for a little while.”  


“Okay,” said Castiel, hanging up the phone. “Dean will be here in twenty minutes. His brother and sister are coming with him; I think we’ll all be hanging out first.”  


“Have fun,” his mom said, giving him a kiss. “Make sure – no cars, Castiel.”  


“Got it, Mom.”  


“And be home by nine!”  


“ _Mom!_ ”  


“Ugh. Ten. Okay?”  


“Fine,” he grumbled, and the matter was settled. When the door to the house finally gave a blessed knock, he jumped out of his spot on the couch and ran to the door eagerly. He found Dean and Sam at the door, while Jo loitered at the end of the driveway.  


“Hey, Cas!” said Dean, grinning as Castiel leaned back into the house, yelled to his parents that he was leaving, and promptly shut the door behind him. “Up for some sledding?”  


“I am up for anything, if it’s with you,” said Castiel – only to feel his cheeks heat up immediately after. “I just – I mean, I enjoy the time we spend together. It – it’s – You and I share a profound bound, we – “  


“Yep, called it,” said Sam, worrying Castiel to no end and visibly irritating his older brother. “I’m gonna just – start heading to the slope with Jo, while you two – _do this._ Again.”  


With that, Sam kicked snow up in his path down the walkway. He and Jo started for home, with Dean and Castiel close behind.  


“So, um, where – where are you taking me?” asked Castiel curiously. “Where is there to sled around here?”  


“Aw, dude, there’s this really big hill in the swamp behind Benny’s house,” explained Dean. “He lives, like, ten minutes away from us.”  


“A swamp?”  


“Yep,” said Dean. “But, don’t worry, it’s completely frozen over. Sammy, Jo, and I always spend snow days hanging out at Benny’s, usually.”  


“That’s a lovely tradition,” said Castiel with a smile. “Will anyone else be there? Charlie, maybe?”  


“O-oh, um – No,” said Dean, suddenly looking at the snow crunching underfoot. “We don’t, um. It’s just you. I mean – you and us. I – I mean, like – Benny lives right near us, so it’s our tradition. Charlie’s more of a… hot chocolate by the firelight kind of gal. It’s not really… her thing. I mean, I guess I _could_ invite her. Never really thought to before, but – I mean, you and I are gonna watch movies, so I figured…”  


“Oh. Well – I’m honored to be a part of the ritual,” said Castiel, earning a laugh from Dean.  


“Dude, you make us sound like members of a cult. We’re just a bunch of friends hanging out. Nothing you can’t handle, right?”  


“I think so. Benny was nice, the last time we met.”  


“Yeah,” said Dean, “he’s cool.”  


Castiel looked ahead, at Sam and Jo bickering about something many feet ahead of them. “Um. Dean?”  


“Yeah, Cas?”  


“What did Sam mean, when he – well, when I answered the door, he said that he ‘knew it.’ What did he mean by that?”  


Dean appeared abjectly horrified by Castiel’s question. “Oh, you know how younger siblings are. Always bitchy.”  


“Oh…”  


“Just – just ignore that,” said Dean. “Ignore _him_. Ignore her too, actually, if she says shit to you. Okay?”  


“I – I mean, Dean, they’re my friends, as well.”  


“My friend first, though. I got dibs.”  


Castiel grinned. He was at least happy about the cold weather being a viable third party to blame for his rosy cheeks. “Yes, you do,” he agreed. They continued on their path down the street. “So – what will we be watching today?”  


“Ah, I was thinking we’d go for Big Lebowski tonight. Or maybe Fight Club. I dunno, we’ll see. However we feel, I guess.”  


As they neared the house, Sam and Jo ran up the driveway to get two plastic sleds from the garage. While Dean and Castiel were just making their way up, they started running over the snowy lawn – hopping their feet to get past the snow.  


With two sleds, Dean and Castiel trudged their way down the block until they made it to a house with an open gate leading to its backyard. They both ran to the back, Dean leading the way, until they found Sam and Benny and Jo waiting for them at the back of the yard.  


“You made it!” said Benny cheerfully. “Alright, brother – help me open this gate?”  


While Dean and Benny kicked at the snow, Sam, Jo, and Castiel pulled at the door to the gate that separated the house from the swampy woods out back. When they finally had it pulled open enough to fit themselves and their sleds though, they all took off, one by one – Jo, Sam, Dean, Benny, and Castiel.  


The walk around the woods, up to where the hill was located, was about fifteen minutes long. As they went, Castiel regaled the group of the tale when he last went sledding. “After I left the emergency room, it just made sense not to ‘play in the snow’ like the rest of people my age. Up until last year, I’d never leave the house for anything but school on a snow day.”  


“What changed your mind?” asked Jo curiously.  


“My little sister wanted to make a snowman,” he explained awkwardly, “and my mom yelled at me to help.”  


“Siblings, dude,” agreed Dean – only to have a face full of snow not a moment later. “BITCH!” He sprinted after a shrieking Sam Winchester, but Castiel wasn’t too terribly worried; for all of Dean’s complaints about being an older brother, he truly loved his brother.  


When they finally made it up the hill, Jo clapped. “Yo, we _made it!_ ” she cheered. “Okay, okay – Dean, get on with me!”  


“No way, Harvelle!” he barked. “I’m getting on with Cas!”  


To this, Jo snorted. “Yeah, you are,” she muttered condescendingly – yelping when Dean glowered at her. “Know what? I’ll just ride by myself.”  


After she and Sam cascaded down the hill in a barrel of laughs, it was Dean’s turn. He dropped their sled, looking at Castiel with a grin. “Come aboard, sir?”  


“O-oh. Alright.” Castiel stepped over the sled, sitting down – only to be startled when Dean sat right behind him. “Wait. You’re behind me?”  


“Yeah,” said Dean, his chest now pressed against Castiel’s back. “That okay?”  


“Oh, it’s – it’s fine, just – I mean, I’ve always been the one in the back. Whenever I go sledding, I’m always the heaviest in th – ,”  


“It’s okay, Cas,” said Dean. “You can go in the back next time. Alright?”  


“O-okay.”  


“Y’all ready?”  


“Right,” said Castiel, “ready. It’s – Dean, you can – _SHIT – !_ ”  


Dean had just started to kick off their sled, only for Sam (who had just made it back up the hill and was very out of breath) to push his brother forward. Dean and Castiel’s sled took off like a bullet, the wind smacking Castiel in the face. They skidded down the ramp, all the way over to the frozen-over pond.  


During the entirety of the ride, though, Castiel could mostly only pay attention to Dean behind him. Sure – he was freaked out – but he could feel Dean breathing. And as they went faster and faster, Castiel leaned back all the way – and Dean’s arm wrapped around his torso.  


When they went back up the hill, it was Benny’s turn. Then Sam asked Dean to go on with him, leaving Castiel to go one by himself. And then, finally, when they were both up the hill again, it was Dean’s and Castiel’s turn.  


“See,” said Dean, getting to the front of the sled, “I keep my promises.”  


“Well, aren’t I lucky?” teased Castiel, immediately placing his hands over Dean’s hips – startling Dean – and removing them suddenly. “Ah – sorry, I’m usually – “  


“Biggest person on the sled, yeah,” said Dean. “Little sisters.”  


“Y-yep.”  


“It’s – I mean, it’s fine, Cas.”  


“Okay. Sorry.”  


“No, I – “ Dean reached back, refusing to look at Castiel and he took his arms and awkwardly placed them back where they had been before. “So. Um. Yeah. You can – you can do that thing now. Kick off.”  


Castiel adjusted himself, getting more comfortable with Dean in his arms – _oh, my God, best day ever._ He was stuck there, for the most part; blushing and stupid, realizing that this was _happening right now_ , that Dean had just –  


“Cas?” said Dean, turning his head. “You gonna – ?” He stopped, though, when their eyes met. They were closer now, closer than they ever had been. With Castiel’s fingers twitching over his hips, Dean licked his lips, looking down at Castiel’s mouth, and – okay, maybe the angle might be awkward, but – but _maybe_ –  


“You fucking losers!” said Jo behind them. “You _better_ invite me to the wedding!”  


And with a hard push at Castiel’s back, the sled skittered away. Dean’s head whirled back around, looking at where they were going, shocked – while Castiel’s arms tightened around Dean, holding him closer and allowing himself the small wonder of leaning his chin over Dean’s shoulder.  


As they descended, the sled became faster and faster, until it was inevitable that the whole situation would come to a collapse. When they reached the pond, Dean told Castiel to slide to the left on the three – and they rolled right off the sled, giggling into oblivion, with Castiel’s arms wrapped around Dean for a bit longer than was perhaps necessary. 

When they were sufficiently frozen to the bone and starved, they bid Benny adieu. Together, Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Jo waded through the snow some more, only to find Ellen – Dean’s and Sam’s adopted mother and Jo’s mother – sitting in the living room of the house.  


“Hell,” she said, shaking her head. “Y’all get into new clothes and – for the love of God, Sam Winchester, you are _blow-drying_ that hair! You’ll get sick, drenched like that!”  


“Ellen!” whined Sam. “I’m fine! I don’t need to – !”  


“Did I ask for your permission?” she snapped. “Go on, kid!”  


He grumbled on the way to his room, but he would eventually relent. Meanwhile, Castiel shivered and took off his trench coat – which hadn’t been nearly enough to keep him warm. His fingers felt like icicles, his ears frigid, and – ironically – his cheeks burning from the cold, not Dean this time.  


Ellen took one look at Castiel and rolled her eyes, entirely unimpressed. “Go – borrow one of Dean’s shirts, or somethin’.”  


“O-oh, I’m – that’s o-okay, I’m – I really – ,”  


“Dean,” said Ellen, “take your overly-polite boyfriend and bring him a change of clothes.”  


Dean glared at Ellen sourly, but she didn’t really seem to care. “Fine,” he said, taking Castiel by the arm and leading him into his bedroom. Once there, he filed through his drawers, looking nervous. “Uh – I – I – Sorry, it’s all, like – I mean, the shit I wear is usually – ,”  


“It’s fine,” mumbled Castiel, accepting the offering gratefully. “I am very cold. Ellen’s probably right; if I’m staying at your house for many hours, I shouldn’t – I mean, it’s – it’s not a bad idea.”  


“R-right.” Dean’s cheeks were adorably pink. “So. There you go.”  


“Yes,” said Castiel.  


They both stared at each other.  


“Dean?”  


“Y-yeah, Cas?”  


“Where – ?” He laughed nervously. “Where should I, um – ?”  


“ _Fuck_ , right – shit – Um, well, in here is okay, I guess – or there’s the bathroom.”  


The bathroom turned out to be occupied. Flustered beyond belief, Dean left Castiel in his bedroom. Castiel couldn’t deny how heartwarming it was to see Dean so – emotionally influenced, perhaps – because of _him_.  


The shirt Dean had given him was simple and black. It was baggy over his shoulders, and he blushed when he saw the image on the front – some angelic man with wings looking upwards, with the words _**LED ZEPPELIN**_ emblazoned above him. Dean had also helpfully supplied him with a pair of jeans, which had holes in the knees. Castiel had never worn jeans with holes in them, but he left the bedroom in his new outfit quite proudly.  


The look on Dean’s face when Castiel came out wearing his clothes was – priceless. He gawked at Castiel, not even bothering to hide it, with a look in his eyes that made Castiel feel both giddy and nervous and – proud, oddly enough. It was weird, but – he liked the feeling.  


They both went out into the living room, finding Jo plopped on the couch with Ellen.  


“Yo,” said Dean, tearing his eyes from Castiel and nodding to his family. “Both of you, shoo. Cas is my guest.”  


“He’s here, like, _every day,_ ” bemoaned Jo. “Mama, at what point does he lose his status as a ‘guest?’”  


“When he’s suddenly a person who lives in this house,” answered Ellen bluntly.  


Glaring at Dean, Jo grumbled, “Bet Dean would just _looove_ that.”  


“I imagine he would,” replied Ellen. “Now, Joanna-Beth, get your feet _off that table_ , right now. What kind of girl did I raise? We have a _guest_.”  


“Ohmygooood.” Jo essentially pegged the television remote at Dean, who moved as if he was going to hit her with it – only for Castiel to poke him, glaring at him pointedly.  


“Dean,” hissed Castiel, “don’t – !”  


“She’s such a – !”  


Sam came out of the bathroom, his hair newly blow-dried. He took a look at the large group sitting in the living room – and then immediately went to the kitchen. “Hey, Cas?” he asked. “You want something to drink? We have hot chocolate or tea. Coffee, too.”  


“Oh, that’s alright,” said Castiel politely. “I wouldn’t want – ,”  


“Dude, really,” said Sam, “you’re fine. What would you like?”  


“I… I really – ,”  


“He likes hot chocolate,” said Dean, using the remote to turn on the gaming console with the instant movie-player. “And – like, put cinnamon in it. He’s fucking weird; he likes cinnamon in his hot chocolate.”  


Castiel elbowed Dean. “It is not _weird_.”  


“One cinnamon-y hot chocolate, comin’ up,” recited Sam, trotting into the kitchen helpfully.  


“Um,” said Jo loudly, “ _I_ want some hot chocolate! Why the hell don’t you ask _me?_ ”  


“Maybe ‘cause I just like Cas more than I like you.”  


“Hate to break it to ‘ya, Sammy,” said Jo, “but Cas definitely likes someone else here _much more_ than he’ll ever like you.”  


“Hmm. I like to think that, platonically, I’m the person in this room he likes the most.”  


“Oh, my _God_ ,” said Dean loudly, his face burning in embarrassment, “will all of you _get out?_ ”  


Ellen turned to look at him, an eyebrow. “Our existence bothers you that much?” she asked. “What the hell are you and lover-boy gonna be _up to_ when we’re gone?”  


Jo and Sam cackled their praise to Ellen, who snorted loudly when Dean definitely wanted to throw something at her. “For – fuck – sake!” he said. “What is it going to take?”  


“Why can’t we stay?” demanded Jo, bringing an air of mischief to Ellen’s sentiment. “Yeah – what do you have to hide? Why can’t we hang out and watch this movie with you?”  


“We don’t even know what we’re gonna watch,” said Dean tiredly.  


“Yeah, _as if_ you don’t plan out these nights.”  


When Sam returned with a cinnamon-covered hot chocolate for Castiel and an herbal tea for himself, he sat on the ottoman in the middle of the room, quietly slurping. “Are we all watching a movie together?” he asked curiously. “Is that why we’re all here?”  


“ _No_ ,” said Dean, “you’re all gonna fuck off – ,”  


“Dean Winchester!” barked Ellen. “I do _not_ want to hear that kind of language, especially when there’s a guest! God, were you raised by wolves? _No_ , you were not, so you _be quiet_ and act like a goddamn _gentleman_. Gentlemen do not swear like sailors!”  


Dean groaned loudly, turning to Castiel in horror. “God, Cas – I am _so sorry._ ”  


“It’s – it’s quite alright,” said Castiel, laughing quietly. “Perhaps we could find a movie suited for all of our tastes.”  


“Hell yeah!” cried Jo. “Now, that’s the spirit, Cas!”  


They settled on a movie called The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Castiel was _beyond_ confused most of the time – and Dean was annoyed that they weren’t watching it, just the two of them. But Jo kept insisting that it was the kind of movie you watch in a large group; it just made it more fun. Sam seemed to even agree with this, and less than five minutes into the movie, he and Jo and Dean were belting out poor-quality renditions of the entire movie’s album.  


Towards the end of the movie, Ellen excused herself to get ready for work. By the time the film ended, she was gone, leaving Sam, Jo, Dean, and Castiel to find another movie. Once more, they bickered for far too long over the choice in movie – and found themselves watching Titanic.  


“How have you not seen Titanic?” demanded Jo. “It’s – like – _Titanic._ ”  


“I’ve never really been a movie-watcher,” explained Castiel. He was happy to no longer be shivering, and his second cup of lovely cinnamon hot cocoa had warmed him to the bone. He was cozy underneath a blanket with Dean, wearing Dean’s comfortable clothes that smelled sweetly familiar.  


“What did you even do as a kid?” she asked. “Just – photosynthesize?”  


“Essentially,” agreed Castiel, which had Dean choking on his new cup of hot chocolate (complete with whipped cream and chocolate shavings).  


Towards the end of the movie, when the ship had just hit the iceberg, Castiel was startled by Dean elbowing him. “Dude,” he said, “no sleeping.”  


“Sorry – sorry.” Castiel lifted his arm, rubbing his eyes. “I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep lately, ever since…”  


“Oh. Right.”  


“ _Yeah,_ ” said Castiel. “So – excuse me, if I am tired.” Upon feeling Dean huff, laughing quietly, he nudged him. “What’s so funny?”  


“Nothin’, just – man – you’re fucking cute,” said Dean, grinning. “Can’t sleep because of a _horror movie_.”  


“I – lots of people are afraid of horror movies!” squeaked Castiel. “I – I am not – !”  


“Adorable,” said Dean, and the word seemed to just – sit there, out in the open. He had said it, and Castiel was struggling to wrap his head around it. How was he supposed to _answer that?_  


“Both of you, stop talking,” said Jo, throwing a handful of popcorn and the couple. “I’m trying to hear the movie!”  


“You’ve seen it, like, a billion times!”  


“Yeah, but this is a good part, and I can’t listen to two disgusting romances happen at the same time!”  


Dean picked up each popcorn kernel carefully, leaning up and winding his arm around Castiel. While Castiel looked up at Dean, flustered, he ducked out of the way when Dean threw the popcorn right back at her. After Jo shrieked and yelled to Dean about how much a jerk he was, Dean laughed and sat back down – but he didn’t move his arm.  


On the ottoman, Sam giggled into his tea. “Smooth,” he told his brother, who flipped him off while Castiel’s cheeks turned impossibly red.  


The rest of the movie was a bit of a blur. Castiel’s eyes continued to droop – only now, more comfortably. Dean’s shoulder was there for him to lean against, and as he slowly felt himself becoming more and more sleepy, Dean’s arm tightened around him and held him close.  


By the time the opening credits rolled, both Castiel and Dean were sound asleep, snuggled together warmly. 

The sound of the front door of the house opening stirred Castiel awake. He turned his head to the side, burying his face further against Dean’s chest and murmuring quietly. Absently, he overheard the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.  


“The hell – ?”  


Dean startled at something – almost waking, only to pull Castiel closer.  


“Dean – _Dean._ For fuck sake. _Dean!_ ”  


The movement of Dean jumping awake shocked Castiel awake just as well. As they gathered themselves, they stared at none other than Ellen, who was staring at the two of them with a dumbfounded look on her face. “What?” said Dean. “What, Ellen, _what?_ ”  


“Do you know what time it is?” she demanded. “‘Cause I’d have half a mind to think that _that boy_ has some kinda curfew. I dunno, figured I’d tell you before I head on to bed. Make sure you turn off all the lights, oka – ?”  


With bleary eyes, Castiel’s eyes landed on the small digital clock underneath the blank television screen. Confused, he focused, only to find – _2:06_.  


Wait – wait, fuck – _no – oh, no_ –  


“Oh, fuck,” blurted out Castiel, tearing himself away from Dean as horrible panic set in. “Oh – oh, my God – my – _oh, my God,_ my parents are going to fucking _murder me_ , oh – my God – oh, my God – !”  


“Calm – calm down, Cas, okay,” said Dean quickly, “it’s fine. We can just – I’ll go in with you, and we can tell them that we just – ,”  


His phone had seven missed called and three unread messages. “No, no, no,” squeaked Castiel, burying his face in his hands. “You don’t understand, my…”  


“What?”  


“I – I don’t – _know_ , my parents are – just – they don’t – “  


“Alright, alright,” said Ellen, holding up a hand to quiet them both. “Tell you what – I’ll take Castiel, here, home. Dean, you go to bed.”  


“Wh – No!” said Dean. “I should – !”  


“Castiel’s in good hands,” said Ellen. “I’ll drive him home. Go on, now.”  


Dean was reluctant, looking at Castiel with concern. “Cas,” he said gently, “do you want me to go with you?”  


“I’ll – I’ll be fine,” said Castiel, quite certain that he was not at all be fine. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll – I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”  


“If you’re sure…”  


“I am. Good night, Dean.”  


“Night, Cas.”  


They parted ways. Castiel went outside with Ellen, wincing. “My – my parents didn’t really want anyone driving me around today,” he told her awkwardly. “I could just – ,”  


“Roads are fine just about now. Boy, I’m not having you _walk_ , so get your ass in that car.”  


He did as he was told. While she drove, he dialed his mom’s phone – only for it to go to voice mail. “I am… going to die.”  


“You need some help?” asked Ellen, looking at him carefully while she parked out front. “Come on, I’ll take you inside.”  


“You – you don’t have to – ,”  


“I want to. You’re a good kid, and you’re really nice to Dean.” They both exited the car, heading up to the front porch and finally knocking on the door. “Just relax, kid. It’ll be fine.”  


When the door finally opened, Castiel’s mother was standing there. Her hair was down – no longer in its high bun like she would have it for work. Perhaps she had been getting ready for bed earlier when she realized Castiel still wasn’t home. She was still in her pantsuit for work. “Castiel,” she said, almost relieved for a second – and then quite annoyed. “Welcome back.”  


“I – H-hi, Mom.”  


“Hello,” said Ellen kindly, holding out a hand that Naomi took politely. “I’m Ellen. Dean’s guardian. I wanted to, ah, thank you.”  


“For?” asked Naomi, puzzled.  


“You have a real nice kid,” said Ellen. “He’s always a pleasure, especially to Dean, when – hell, I dunno if that numskull really deserves it. Anyway, the two of them – they were watching this movie with the other two kids, Dean’s brother Sam and my daughter Jo, and – they fell asleep. I’m sorry if you were spooked; as soon as I got home from work, I woke ‘em up and took him here.”  


“Oh. Well, thank you,” said Naomi, gesturing Castiel on into the house. “That’s very nice of to say, Ellen. I’m Naomi.”  


“Lovely to meet you.”  


“You too,” said Naomi. “Well – you have a good night, alright? Thank you for taking him home.”  


“Good night,” said Ellen. Then, smiling at Castiel, she said, “See you ‘round, son.”  


“Bye, Ellen. Th-thank you.”  


The door shut, sealing Castiel’s fate with it. As his mother led him up the stairs of the house, he found his father in the kitchen, looking – quite displeased.  


“U-um,” said Castiel, clearing his throat nervously. “I – I am very sorry.”  


“Damn right, you are,” said Zachariah. “Do you have – Do you have _any idea_ , Castiel – _any idea_ – ?”  


“Honey, I’m sure that Dean is a very nice boy with very nice parents,” said Naomi, “but you didn’t answer your phone. You didn’t come home when you were supposed to, you didn’t answer your phone – and _I don’t know where he lives_. Do – do you have any clue how – how _terrible_ that is, to think that, alright, maybe he forgot, maybe – maybe he _fell asleep_ , or – or what if my son is hurt? What if something happened when he was ‘hanging out’ with his little friends during the biggest blizzard of the year?”  


“I know,” said Castiel quickly, nodding. “I’m – I’m sorry. Okay? I am _sorry_. I – I haven’t been getting sleep lately, and then we were watching this movie, and I was – ?”  


“No,” said Naomi, “and _another thing_ – I appreciate your friend’s mother coming here to reassure me, but – you know what? I am _not_ reassured because – you – you’re just – wearing weird clothes, and you’ve just – been at his house without any parents, and it’s – this isn’t how you’re supposed to act, Castiel!”  


“Act like _what?_ ” he demanded. “We fell asleep!”  


“You _know what I’m talking about!_ ”  


“No!” he shouted. “I really don’t!” He looked between his parents, scoffing at them. “What – what do you think I’m doing? Oh, my _gosh._ We went _sledding_ in the snow! It was freezing, and – okay, I might have forgotten my clothes at his house ‘cause – ‘cause I rushed over here, but – that’s not – Guys, we _didn’t – !_ ”  


Naomi shook her head. “Castiel, just – stop, alright? We _know_. We know that Dean is – Alright, we know that Gabriel _isn’t_ – !”  


“Gabriel isn’t _what?_ ” asked Castiel, laughing in absurdity. “My – my boyfriend? I’ve already told you that! _He_ has already told you that!”  


“Alright!” barked Naomi. “So give us a chance to get used to the idea of you with – someone else! Don’t do _this,_ and expect – !”  


“A chance to get used to it?” demanded Castiel. His voice sounded horribly bitter to his own ears as he gestured to his father, who scowled. “Dad has been treating Dean like he’s – he’s some kind of criminal, and you expect me to believe that neither of you have some sort of inkling that there’s something going on between the two of us?”  


“Castiel – ,”  


“I know exactly what you both think of it!” snapped Castiel. “And, for your information, _you’re wrong._ Gabriel wasn’t my boyfriend, and I told you that. Now, I’m telling you: _Dean Winchester is not my boyfriend._ Not that – not that I wouldn’t be so lucky as to say he was, ‘cause – ‘cause he makes me feel _happy_ and _good about myself._ But – but, no, all you’re concerned with is the – the fact that I took a nap after I watched _fucking Titanic!_ ”  


“Hey!” shouted Zachariah. “Now, that is _enough!_ You do not use that kind of – !”  


“Alright,” said Naomi, scoffing, “so Dean Winchester is ‘perfect’ now, great. How was I supposed to know that something didn’t happen to you? You’re supposed to – !”  


“Okay!” insisted Castiel. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, I’m sorry! What do you want me to say besides _I’m sorry?_ ”  


His mother was fuming. “Castiel,” she said, “you just – you just don’t know what kind of bad, horrible things that could’ve happened to you. That we _thought_ might have happened to you.”  


“I know,” he said tiredly, “and I am _sorry._ But – it was not Dean’s fault, all right? He’s not a horrible friend for falling asleep during a – a ‘chick flick,’ or whatever he likes to call them!”  


“We’re not mad about that!” said Naomi. “I just want you to think about the fact that we did not know where our sixteen-year-old son was for _hours._ What, do – do you think we’ll just be okay with that? Like it or not, Castiel, but I am _not okay_ with it.”  


Breathing deeply, Castiel quieted himself. After a few moments of solemn silence, trying to contain himself, he shook his head. “Fine. But it wasn’t Dean’s fault. I had a really nice day, and then – we fell asleep. That’s _all._ ”  


“Nice to know,” said Naomi sharply. “Go to your room now, please.”  


“Th – Mom, it – ,”  


“ _Now_ , Castiel.”  


Reluctantly, he started for the hallway. It wasn’t fair, though – he just wanted them to understand, to _know_ everything that Dean had done for him. Everything that Dean meant to him. “I – Look, I’m going to bed,” he said quickly, “but – Dean’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”  


“Yes, Castiel. We kn – ,”  


“No,” he said, “you _don’t_ know. Because the entire time when you were convinced that I was – that I was dating Gabriel? I had _no clue_ whether or not my own parents were going to react just like Aunt Rachel did!”  


His parents – stopped. They both appeared speechless, at a loss for how to possibly talk to him about what they all already knew.  


“Dean Winchester is my friend,” he said. “He was there for me, and – and he’s a very important person to me. So – _stop_ treating him like this. Don’t blame him, blame me. Now, just – good night.”  


Without another word, he stomped to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, feeling quite upset still – only to startle when he heard the surprised squeak in the corner of the room. “Anna?”  


“Castiel!” she said, hopping off his bed and jumping over. “You’re back!”  


“I – What are you doing awake?” he asked, puzzled.  


His little sister shrugged, looking down at her feet awkwardly. “Oh. Um. Well, Mom and Dad got all worried ‘cause you never came home. They were arguing, and it woke me up.”  


“O…kay. Why are you in my – ?”  


“Where were you?” she asked, pointedly ignoring his question.  


Castiel watched her carefully, blinking. “Um. I was – I went out sledding with friends. And then we watched some movies. I fell asleep and lost track of time.”  


“Friends,” said Anna, “like… Dean?”  


“Yes,” he said, dropping his coat onto his bed and plopping down. “He was there.”  


“Right.”  


“You should go to bed,” he told her. “I’m – I mean, I am very flattered that you were worried, Anna, but we both have school t – ,”  


“I wasn’t worried,” she said. “I was more – Well. Okay. I was kind of worried. But not for what you think.”  


“Um. Okay?”  


His little sister’s gaze was – disturbingly intense. She reminded him of their mother, in a terrifying and non-mature way. “Cassy?”  


“Hmm?”  


“I love you,” she said – and then, suddenly, she was rambling. “And, like, I know I tease you about being stupid, and stuff, but you’re – I mean, you _are_ kinda stupid and you get really annoying, but – I mean, I love you. You’re my big brother and I really, really love you.”  


Flustered, Castiel nodded slowly. “I – ?” He laughed awkwardly, smiling at her softly. “I love you too, Anna.”  


“Y-yeah,” she said. “So – I kind of, um. I wanted to ask you about something.”  


“About… what?”  


She paused, momentarily – before going directly headfirst into the abyss of her Big Question. “Is – is Dean your boyfriend?”  


_What._  


“Because – because, I mean, I’m not _stupid,_ ” she went on. “You talk about him, like, all the time, and you’re basically obsessed with him! Like, the way _I’m_ obsessed with – like – Gabriel, or – or Seth, from my math class! Like, totally-totally obsessed with him. And – and, I mean, I don’t think it’s, like, weird. It’s – it’s not weird, and – I mean, it’s kinda confusing, I guess, because I’ve seen those videos on YouTube of those boys proposing to other boys, and – I’m always confused how they know which one is supposed to be getting down on one knee, or – oh, my gosh, with _girls,_ it’s – like – !”  


“ _Anna,_ ” he interrupted, voice shrill, “hold on. Why – why do you think Dean is my boyfriend?”  


“I – I dunno.”  


“Anna!”  


She frowned, playing with the hem of her shirt. “Um – at – at the diner, after church, Uncle Bart and Aunt Rachel got really mad at Mom and Dad. They – they were saying mean things, and I thought that – Well, I kind of had a feeling. And – and, I mean, I realized that Dean’s your friend – but you, like, _really_ like him. And he really, really likes you.”  


Castiel grimaced. “I – I’m sorry you had to hear all of that, Anna.”  


“S’fine. I was just sad because – I mean, they’re not supposed to talk about you like that. You’re not a bad person, just because you like boys like I do.”  


“That – is a very nice way of looking at it,” he offered with a laugh. “Thank you.”  


“Besides,” she said, gesturing wildly, “this isn’t a _bad thing._ ”  


“It’s not?”  


“Yeah!” she said. “I’ve completely thought it through; when we’re all grown up, and stuff, I’m gonna get married, right?”  


“Uh. Right?”  


“Yeah, and I’m gonna change my name, obviously, and my kids aren’t going to have our last name. And then, obviously, Hannah is gonna do that too, and, you know, boys don’t have babies, so – I mean, I figure it’s a good thing, ‘cause our last name sounds really stupid. I mean, _Milton?_ We sound like a family of chocolatiers.”  


“Oh, my God,” mumbled Castiel quietly, to nobody in particular.  


“And, another thing!” she said. “We can, like, talk about boys now! We never had anything in common before because, like – I mean, you’re a stupid boy and you like dumb things – but you like _boys_.”  


“Boys are plenty stupid,” he offered jokingly.  


“Well, obviously,” she said. “ _You’re_ a boy.”  


At this, he picked up a pillow and swatted her with it. She squeaked out a laugh and took a seat beside him, swaying happily as she further explained to him the extent of her excitement with the new development.  


“Plus, I think we have a pretty similar taste in boys.”  


Castiel balked at this. “Sorry,” he said, “ _what?_ ”  


“Well, first there was Gabriel, obviously,” said Anna, quite logically. “And now there’s Dean! They’re both really cute.”  


“I – _No_. No, I am not – _No._ ”  


“Honestly,” she continued, “I’m kinda glad you’re not going to date Gabriel. He’s – I mean, it’s _stupid,_ ‘cause he thinks I’m a baby, but – I dunno. I can’t really help but think that, someday – ,”  


“Anna,” he begged, “please. We do not have ‘similar taste.’ I _never_ liked Gabriel.”  


“Well, fine,” she said, “but I thought Dean was really, really, really, _really_ cute when I first saw him. He has pretty eyes and he wears a leather jacket – that’s, like, automatically cool.”  


Castiel refused to admit how wholeheartedly he agreed with that statement. He _refused._ “It’s – it’s really not the same,” he insisted. “Please, stop. Go to bed, Anna.”  


She pouted, getting up from her spot next to him – only to turn and fix him with a sharp stare. “Soooo. You never answered the question.”  


“What question?”  


“Is Dean your boyfriend?”  


His stomach tied into many, many knots as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”  


“Castiel!” she whined. “I’ve told you who I like. Gabriel and Seth! They’re, like, awesome. Why can’t you just tell me – ?”  


“Oh, God,” grumbled Castiel. “I’m being grilled for dating a person that I haven’t even _kissed_ yet. Anna, he’s not my – !”  


“Yet?” said Anna. “Ooooohh.”  


“I – _wait_ , no, that wasn’t – !”  


“Good night, Cassy,” she said sweetly, leaning up on her tippy-toes and giving him a cute and sisterly peck on the cheek. “Hey, should I tell Hannah?”  


“I – tell her about…?”  


“You, liking boys?”  


“Okay. G’night.”  


“Night, Anna.”  


Finally – _finally_ – she left. Castiel let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his eyes and getting into bed. When he turned out his lights and turned in for the night, he felt – strangely content, for a person who was fairly certain that they had just been grounded.  


Hmm. Odd. 

  


During much of Castiel’s exile, he – strangely enough – spent a lot of time with his sisters. He was stuck in the house anyway, after school. They ended up watching whatever was on their television, which – wasn’t much, given the parental controls and limitations to Christian-friendly channels.  


By the time they attended the next church service, he felt sufficiently bored with the entire cycle – and was pleasantly surprised when the Miltons went home to find a familiar car parked outside their house.  


It was a shiny, black 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Dean had ranted and raved about that car to Castiel for weeks and weeks. He was _in love_ with the damn thing. According to Dean, his father was drunk when he was involved in a very bad accident in that car when he and Sam were kids, which was how they were orphaned. Their Uncle Bobby, now their adopted father, had saved the remains of the car and fixed some of the difficult parts – until Dean fully refurbished it when he was fifteen years old.  


That car was Dean’s pride and joy. It was Dean’s _Baby_ – and seeing that car in front of his house brought Castiel far more happiness than he wished it. As soon as his family’s car was parked, he hopped out of the vehicle, running over to the car along the side of the road.  


“What – ,” breathed Castiel, “ – are you doing here?”  


“Hold on a sec,” said Dean, to Sam next to him riding shotgun. He then opened his door to the and – immediately after getting out – bounced on his feet worriedly. “Okay, man – you’ve been telling me at school that, like, your parents are pissed about the whole thing that happened with – I mean, it’s partially my fault – ,”  


“It’s not your fault,” insisted Castiel, not for the first time.  


Dean shook his head. “It is,” he pressed. “And – I just – Look, I _miss you,_ okay?”  


“You – miss me?”  


“ _Yes,_ ” said Sam, leaning jarringly against Dean’s side of the car and sticking his head out of the window. “He was clingy before, but now he’s just – ,”  


In some horrible form of retaliation, Dean opened the car door again. Sam squeaked, nearly toppling out, but catching himself mostly due to his seatbelt. “Man,” said Dean, looking back at Castiel and ignoring his brother entirely, “you’re, like – I mean, hanging out with you is important.”  


“You have other friends you can hang out with, Dean,” said Castiel, trying and failing to smother his grin.  


“Not like you,” said Dean. “I mean – sure, there’s Charlie and Benny, but – I mean, they’re not _you._ ”  


And with that heart-warming sentiment, the doors to the Milton family’s car all ceremoniously shut together. Dean and Castiel startled, turning around to look at the Miltons piling out of the car.  


“I mean – look, I get that your parents aren’t, like, my biggest fan,” said Dean, “but I’m – I’m goin’ stir-crazy, Cas. I – I mean, I – I _need_ you.”  


It was the closest to any sort of declaration that they had ever gotten. Castiel was frozen, beholding Dean in his stuttering and blushing glory, grinning like an idiot while Sam feigned gagging. Distantly, he heard footsteps approaching – and then, suddenly, his parents were upon them.  


“Castiel,” his father said, looking at Dean sourly. “Your friend is back.”  


Dean spoke before Castiel had the chance. “Yes, sir,” he said, standing his ground better than Castiel ever could. Maybe – maybe _that_ was why he had become so fixated on Dean in the first place. Stubbornness, determination, a give-em-hell attitude – it was so indescribably _Dean_ that Castiel couldn’t help but adore every second of it.  


“Hmm.” Zachariah glanced once at the car, then back at Dean. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”  


“I – I’ve been told, y-yes.”  


“Heh. I bet you have.” Zachariah held out a hand –  


Castiel choked briefly on his own air. Dean, too, seemed to falter. Somehow, in some small way, his universe’s grand implosion dulled.  


– which Dean accepted gratefully. They shook on it, and – Castiel felt something in the air shift. Perhaps it was recognition in his father’s eyes, understanding _why._ He might not like it, but he didn’t disapprove. It was… relieving to watch.  


“Ah,” said Naomi, making her way to the parked Impala with Hannah’s hand in hers. Anna followed closely behind, giggling at something or other. “Look who’s back.”  


“Hello – M-Mrs. Milton,” said Dean nervously. “Lovely to see you again.”  


“Hmm.”  


“Is – Cas didn’t – ah – know I was coming,” continued Dean quickly, “but – I mean, Sammy and I were gonna go to this diner. Cas and I always – Uh, anyway. So, the diner. And we wanted to know if it was okay to take Cas along with us.”  


Naomi looked once at Zachariah, who shrugged. Then, pursing her lips and looking on at Castiel with mild amusement, she said, “I don’t see why not.”  


Castiel hesitated, staring at his parents. Dean, who had been prepared to make some lengthy and undoubtedly heartfelt speech, faltered. “I – you what?”  


“Well, Castiel?” said his mother. “Do you want to go with your friends or not?”  


Castiel floundered, speechless. Was this a trick question? “Um. Yes?”  


“Great,” said Naomi. “Be home by eleven, Honey Bee.”  


“Wait – really?” said Castiel, looking between his two parents in shock. “That’s – that’s it? You’re just letting me go?”  


“Should we not?” asked Naomi, her tone vaguely dangerous. She was laughing, though, and took Hannah into the house with a proud Anna following closely behind.  


Castiel looked at Dean, awkwardly. “Um. Okay,” he said, laughing, “I guess – I guess I’m coming with you. I – I should – uh – change. I’m wearing my Sunday clothes. This – I look…”  


“Handsome,” suggested Dean.  


“I was going to say ‘overdressed,’” mused Castiel, “but thank you.”  


“Great,” said Zachariah, chuckling lowly. “You get changed. Dean and I are – gonna have a little chat, meanwhile.”  


Oh, Castiel _knew_ that it had been too good to be true. “Dad,” he hissed, “ _don’t._ ”  


“What?” demanded Zachariah, laughing forcibly. “We’re pals! Ain’t that right, Dean?”  


Dean’s ensuing laugh was horrifying squeaky. “Y-yeah,” he said, giving Castiel a pained smile as Zachariah clapped him on the back. “We’re – We get along great. Uh. Hurry back?”  


“I – I will be _right back_ ,” vowed Castiel. And then, trying to run as fast as he could back to the house, he barreled inside to his bedroom where he found a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. He absently noticed that he had chosen the Led Zeppelin shirt he had borrowed (stolen?) from Dean, but he figured it was alright.  


He picked up a sweater and his trench coat, ready to make a break for it, when his mother stopped him by the living room.  


“Honey Bee?” she called. “Hold on, I want to say something to you.”  


“I – Yeah, Mom?”  


She peered her head over from the kitchen, coming inside and giving him a once-over. “Well, don’t you look – scruffy.”  


“ _Mom_.”  


“How does it make sense that you were in perfectly nice clothes, and you changed _out of them_ for your date,” she insisted, “to put on some – raggedy old t-shirt that was probably purchased at a concert in the Seventies, and a pair of jeans!”  


His face burned with embarrassment. “It is not a date,” he insisted. “He is _not_ my boyfriend. We’re going to the diner with his brother – that’s definitely not a date.”  


“Hmm.” She didn’t appear convinced. “Look, just – be safe, alright?”  


“Mom, he’s a safe, licensed driver,” insisted Castiel. “And – honestly, he probably cares more about that car than he does me and his brother combined, so – there’s no way he’s wrecking it or getting into any accident. We’ll be fine.”  


“No, I mean – be _safe,_ Castiel.”  


He blinked at her owlishly, not understanding.  


Naomi looked as if she was putting herself through an ordeal, discussing this. “Your father and I love you very much,” she said, “and – listen, just because neither of you can get pregnant does not mean that you shouldn’t – ”  


“ _Oh, my God._ ”  


“ – take the necessary precautions!”  


“Mom,” he growled exhaustedly, “I am _not having sex with Dean._ ”  


“No,” she said helpfully, “because you’d be having _protected_ sex with Dean, right?”  


Resisting the urge to scream, he forced himself to nod. “Yes,” he snapped quickly. “Sure. Protection, condoms – I’ve been educated, congratulations. Can I leave now?”  


“Castiel,” she warned, “don’t be facetious.”  


“ _Mom!_ ”  


“Alright, alright, fine!” she said. “Have fun with your – not-boyfriend.”  


“He’s _not!_ ”  


“So you’ve said.”  


“Lord, have mercy…” he muttered, stepping out of the house with a quick goodbye to his mother, only to find Dean leaning against the side of his car while Zachariah was just starting to walk away. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait – what did you just – ?”  


“Have fun,” said Zachariah, reaching to ruffle Castiel’s hair like he used to when he was a little kid. “You heard your mother. Be home by eleven.”  


“R-right. Bye, Dad.”  


The door to his house shut, leaving Castiel to look at Dean and behold the brightness of Dean’s cheeks. “I – what did he just say to you?”  


“N-nothing,” said Dean, which wasn’t comforting at all. Then, recovering, he nodded to the car. “Ready, Cas?”  


“I… I suppose.”  


“Yo, Sammy!” barked Dean, leaning his head into his window. “Outta the front – kids in the back!”  


“Aw, _come on_ ,” complained Sam.  


Castiel, however, shook his head. “It’s alright,” he said quickly, earning Dean’s confusion. “I’ll just sit in the back. Really, it’s fine.”  


“You sure, Cas?”  


“Of course. It’s a fairly short ride, and – well, it doesn’t make much of a difference.”  


“ _Yeah_ , Dean,” said Sam loudly, “it doesn’t make much of a difference!”  


Dean rolled his eyes at his little brother – and then, his eyes falling on Castiel, he nodded. “M’kay. I can dig it.” Instead of moving to kick Sam out, this time he opened up the door to the backseat. “Your carriage awaits, sir.”  


Blushing, Castiel nodded quite robotically. “Why, thank you,” he answered politely. “Such a gentleman.”  


They both got into their spots on the left side of the car. As Castiel buckled himself in, Dean grinned at him in the rearview mirror. “For you,” he said, “ _always._ ”  


“On second thought,” volunteered Sam, “I’d rather just throw myself out of the car than listen to the two of you. God, I thought you were bad when you refused to acknowledge it, but – shit, this is _so much worse_.”  


“Oh, quiet, you.”  


Sam huffed as they pulled away from the curb, desperate. “Just – at least let me put on some – like – good music, or – ,” He reached for the stereo, which Dean immediately swatted away.  


“Hey,” said the older brother, “house rules, Sammy: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”  


“That is the _dumbest rule!_ ” said Sam. “And – just – stop calling me that! ‘Sammy’ sounds like a chubby twelve-year-old – my name is _Sam._ ”  


“Please,” scoffed Dean, “you’re always gonna be Sammy to me.”  


“ _Jerk._ ”  


“Bitch!”  


“Dean, Sam,” intoned Castiel, “both of you, be nice.”  


“Hey, he started it!”  


“Liar! You totally – !”  


“ _Hey!_ ” barked Castiel. “No throwing things when Dean is driving! _Yes,_ that goes for you too, assbutt!”  


“Did you just call me ‘assbutt?’”  


“ _Oh, God._ ”  


“I agree with Cas – you’re a jerk, Dean. But – yeah, Cas, ‘assbutt’ is pretty weak.”  


“Oh – _God._ ” 

  


After a hearty meal at the diner, where they were happily welcomed by the staff and frequents, Sam suggested that they spend their time at the bowling alley. They hadn’t done it in a while, so Castiel was quite bad at it. After three full games, in which Sam won two out of three, they wandered to the arcade area.  


Dean made a lot of big talk about beating Sam at the air hockey table. Castiel eagerly watched at they battled, puzzled as to the mechanics of it. “I’ve never played,” he said. “My mother always scolded us from playing games like this. They’re – germy.”  


“That’s half the fun,” insisted Dean, only to be cut off by Sam, the voice of reason.  


“There’s hand sanitizer in the bathrooms,” the younger Winchester said. “Hey, you wanna play the winner after this?”  


“Oh,” said Castiel. “That sounds nice.”  


The game was incredibly simple to understand, especially after having watched the intense matches between the brothers. When Sam finally relinquished his puck handle to Castiel, it turned out that Castiel was much better at air hockey than he was at bowling.  


“I like this game,” he told Dean, who grunted in frustration when the puck slid into his goal after his own mishandling. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”  


“Aaaaand that’s my cue,” said Sam suddenly. “Gonna go take a leak. Bye, guys.”  


Dean slammed the puck back into the center, taking a deep breath. “I am not – _annoyed._ ”  


“Alright,” amended Castiel, “you’re adorable when you become fruitlessly competitive.”  


“Fuck – you.”  


Castiel deflected another shot at his goal. “Hey, you’re good at these arcade games, aren’t you?”  


“I’m – _supposed_ to be,” said Dean, staring at the table in fury.  


“Do you think you could get me something pink from the claw machine? My sister has been sad about this bake sale lately. Something about – wanting new cookie cutters, or something. Anyway, I think it might make her happy.  


“Oh. Well, I don’t see why not,” said Dean. “Or – I mean, sure, I can do that. We could also just go to, like, a craft store and get her baking shit, don’t you think?”  


Castiel paused, looking up at Dean in surprise. “You’d – you’d do that?”  


“Sure,” said Dean easily, still fixated on the air hockey table. “Do you know what kind of cookie cutters she’d want?”  


“I – Well, maybe not. I imagine… ducks and penguins, maybe.”  


“She… has an affinity for flightless birds?” asked Dean curiously. Then, at Castiel’s sour look, he laughed. “Yeah, sure. Ducks and penguins it is.”  


“Thank you very much, Dean.”  


“Don’t mention it.”  


The puck slid through Castiel’s side of the table. Dean immediately dropped his handle, glowering at Castiel. “What?”  


“Dude!” said Dean. “I saw that! Do not _let me win!_ That’s just worse!”  


“If my counting is correct, I would not be letting you ‘win,’” insisted Castiel. “I simply – figured that I might help. You look like you’re struggling.”  


“Oh, you fucking _prick,_ ” said Dean. “I want a rematch!”  


“We haven’t even finished the first game yet!”  


“Still!” barked Dean. “Rematch!”  


The air hockey table turned off after Castiel earned himself another couple of points. Dean walked around the table, heading to Castiel’s side where the money slot was located, and started inserting coins.  


While Dean fiddled with the mechanics, Castiel watched him with a smile. Dean’s eyes were furrowed, his mind set on winning a game and proving himself. Stubborn as always. It was – very cute, Castiel thought.  


Not for the first time, he found himself itching to make a move. It had never felt like a good time, though – never felt like he _could_ manage it. If anything, he’d always been waiting for Dean to do it first.  


But – he _wanted._  


“Dean,” said Castiel quietly, watching Dean put in the last few coins. “Can – Hey, can I – ?”  


“Yeah, Cas?” asked Dean.  


The hockey table turned itself back on, air whirring to life from the tiny dots across the board. Dean bent down and picked up the puck from where it fell on Castiel’s side.  


“I – Can I try something?”  


Dean hummed. “Sure,” he said, tossing the puck back onto the board. “What’s up?”  


Mustering all his bravery into one action that would define an entire relationship – Castiel let go of his hockey handle and reached a hand towards Dean. Dean, only vaguely noticing, didn’t move until he noticed the hand over his jaw while Castiel shifted himself closer.  


He saw, for a split second, Dean’s eyes widen. Then – looking down at Castiel’s lips that were closer than ever before, Dean wet his own mouth, looking hopeful.  


Closing the distance between them, they kissed to the sound of the air hockey puck gliding by itself across the table, landing right into Castiel’s goal. They parted at the sound of the puck clinking against the table’s metallic insides – both of them snorting.  


“O-okay,” said Dean, blushing and looking at Castiel as if he was the whole world wrapped into one person. “That’s – that’s probably the only goal I’ll get in this game, with you, h-honestly. I vote we make that one count.”  


“Hmm.” Castiel didn’t care much for air hockey. He simply cared, wholly and completely, for Dean. “Sounds fair.”  


Dean’s triumphant grin was illuminating. “Of course, it is,” he babbled, leaning his cheek against Castiel’s hand and looking quite smug. “I – Fuck, Cas, you’re – you have no clue, man. You just…”  


“I know,” Castiel assured him. “I know.”  


“No, but – It’s – _like_ – I’ve liked people before, but – you’re – you’re just – you’re just – so – !”  


“Really,” insisted Castiel. “Dean, I know. Me too.”  


“Great,” said Dean, ducking his head and nearly bumping their foreheads together. “So, we’re on the same page?”  


“Not quite.” At Dean’s look of confusion, Castiel gulped. “Um – Well – I mean, I was – Do you think that – um – _maybe,_ another time, when – when Sam isn’t here, or Benny, or Jo, or Charlie, or even Gabriel – the two of us can… maybe go to the diner again?”  


“Obviously,” said Dean. “We do that all the time!”  


“Yes,” said Castiel, “but – as a date, instead of. Whatever we were, before.”  


Dean let out a quiet laugh, nodding. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Sure. It’s – it’s a date, Cas.”  


“That’s – Thank you.”  


“You’re _welcome,_ ” said Dean proudly. “Ain’t I fucking delightful?”  


“Yes,” said Castiel sincerely. “You are.”  


“Fuck,” said Dean, “that’s going to really get to me, if you keep doing that – nice-guy thing, where you just keep giving me compliments.”  


“You deserve them. You are lovely.”  


Dean rolled his eyes. “Alright, Casanova,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “I’m about to kick your ass at air hockey now. You game?”  


Nodding, Castiel let go of Dean – quite reluctantly, if he might add. “Yes, I am ‘game,’” he agreed, smiling at Dean’s laughter.  


“Sweet,” said Dean. Just before starting for the other side of the table, though, he paused. “Uh. One more thing?”  


“Hmm?”  


“Ah – kiss me good luck?”  


Castiel failed to hide his smirk, leering at Dean jokingly. “Well – why would I do that? I want to win!”  


“Oh, _come on,_ you fucker – ,”  


This time, Dean was the one who made the first move. Castiel was quite pleased to find himself being kissed, properly. Even when Sam returned to the hockey table and pointedly asked if they were ‘finished being gross,’ he couldn’t help the smile on his face.  


Most importantly, though, he loved to see the same adoration reflected towards him from Dean’s pretty green eyes. Whether Castiel lost air hockey or not, he couldn’t help but feel entirely content, regardless. 

  


When Castiel finally returned home, he found his mother sitting at the table with the checkbook. She was by her lonesome, sorting through the bills when he opened the front door and made his way inside.  


“Castiel?” she called. “Is that you?”  


“Yeah,” he said, taking off his coat. He quickly checked the clock as he passed it, making sure that it wasn’t past eleven – and breathing a sigh of relief as he went up to find his mother in the kitchen.  


“Hey, you,” she said, smiling when he went over to her and gave her a kiss. “Gabriel was over here not too long ago, you know. He was looking for you. He looked kind of angry.”  


At this, Castiel stopped. “At… what?” he asked, entirely worried.  


“I don’t know,” she said. “Something about – an honor society?”  


“Oh. That.” Castiel sat down in the chair across from his mother, placing down his bag from the craft store and shrugging limply. “Probably just – stupid people being stupid. He just wants to vent about it, I think.”  


“Is he not getting along with somebody at school?” asked Naomi, her worry piqued.  


“Oh, no,” said Castiel, “nothing like that. It’s just – well, he signed up to be a part of this group that makes the decisions for organizing the student-run music department. Not everyone is doing their part. Or – only _Gabriel_ is really doing his part. Our president doesn’t really show up for meetings, the treasurer doesn’t take it seriously, and – I don’t think we’ve seen the secretary in weeks.”  


Naomi hummed quietly. “And,” she said, “you’re helping him with this club?”  


“Not – really. My presence is more… supportive than directly helpful.”  


“Really?” asked Naomi, surprised. “I would’ve thought the opposite. You’re always so invested in all of your music things!”  


“I’m not on the – voted-in board,” explained Castiel. “Plus – the only people who really do it are either chock full of free time, or – or they want to go to, like, Julliard – or Stanford – or something. They need big things on their resume, so…”  


“I’m guessing Gabriel falls into the first category?”  


“Yeah,” said Castiel, “which is why he’s so frustrated. He doesn’t care enough about the entire club to be running it. Which – I guess is kind of sad. We’ve been going since we were freshmen, and… well, honor society, theater, and choir are the three places that made me feel really happy in school.”  


“Okay,” said Naomi slowly, “so – why aren’t you helping, then? It sounds like the club means more to you than it does to Gabriel.”  


Castiel shook his head. “We both love it, it’s just – I’m not really, like… a _leadership_ kind of person. Not in that area.”  


“But you want to be a teacher?” his mother insisted. “Isn’t it good practice to – take charge?”  


“Mom, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am not a ‘ _take charge_ ’ person.”  


“Oh, nonsense,” said Naomi. “I’ve seen you in those school plays and the pit orchestra. You’re a big deal. You – you just care _so much_ about it.”  


Vaguely suspicious, Castiel glanced at his mother. “Did – did Gabriel say something to you about this?” he asked. “About the running-thing?”  


“Running?” she asked. “Running what?”  


“I – Never mind.”  


“ _Castiel_.”  


“Nothing, just – He wants me to run for honor society president in May, when we hold the election in June.”  


Naomi gave him a look of mild annoyance. “Wait, Gabriel’s trying to convince you to do this? Well, why don’t you? You’d love it!”  


“I – I figure that – that somebody who wants to pursue _actual music_ would want to do it,” insisted Castiel. “It’s not – I mean, it’s a prestigious position! I would – I would be orchestrating every single club meeting, I would have to talk to the theater directors and the choirmasters almost constantly, just – just to figure out new things we want to do. If we have any hope of going on any field trips as a club – like – like, _okay,_ a few kids I know had this really good idea of making a trip to a nursing home and performing pieces around the holidays. And – _I_ would the one to negotiate that with all of the teachers and the superintendents at our school. _Me._ It is a _job,_ and I just – I think someone else might want it more.”  


His mother entertained this idea for a moment. Then, “But… you _do_ want it?”  


“That’s – that’s not the _point_.”  


“The point,” his mother said, “is that, if it’s an actual ‘election,’ then it needs multiple candidates, right? It’s not about whether or not somebody wants it more, Castiel. It’s who’s going to do a better job. If someone else wants it, then they’ll run for it, too.”  


Castiel fidgeted awkwardly, nodding slowly. “Yeah…” he muttered. “Yeah, maybe.”  


They fell into a silence. Castiel started to get up, about to go on to bed and hopeful ignore further talk about his dreams of the future. His mother brought him to a stop, though, when he heard her laughing suddenly.  


“What?” he asked loudly, squinting at her. “What’s funny?”  


“Nothing – just – ,” Naomi grinned at him, her eyes full of fondness. “I was just remembering when you were my little, itty-bitty baby – ,”  


“Oh, no, _Mom…_ ”  


“ – and you and Gabriel and a few other kids from church used to play in the basement,” she continued, “and – you’d have them perform little ‘plays’ with you. I remember one time, you wrangled _all_ the adults to sit and watch, and – oh, gosh – the Pastor was _so worried_ because – because you had gone into the supplies for the Christmas play without anybody realizing it, and – and this little girl kept hitting Gabriel over the head with the star. I – I think her name was Layla, or something?”  


Castiel snorted, shaking his head. “I remember the plays, but – not that part, I guess?”  


“Well, it happened,” his mother insisted, “and it was adorable. _Oh – !_ And I remember, one time, you yelled at a boy named Joshua because – I’m not really sure, actually, but I think he kept saying the wrong lines, and – you were just so offended, you made Joshua cry, and your father and I got _so mad_ at you – but it was actually very, very funny because – oh, gosh, you were just _so cute_.”  


Castiel vaguely remembered being a bratty, perfectionist child. It sounded like something he would have done. “Yes,” he replied robotically to his mother. “It’s a wonder anybody put up with me.”  


“Oh, no,” cooed Naomi, “you were so sweet! After Joshua cried, you felt so bad! I think you tried to give him a lollipop the next time we saw him!”  


He watched his mother laugh, fondly gawking at her as if she were some spectacle. “Anyway,” he said, standing from the table and gesturing to the bag he had placed down. “These are cookie cutters for Hannah. Bake sale stuff, or something?”  


“Really?” his mother asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “You – Aw, _Honey Bee_. You did that for your sister?”  


“Technically, Dean did,” insisted Castiel. “I told him, so we just – went. Thank him.”  


“Duly noted,” she said. She smiled, though, clearly impressed – which, of course, made Castiel feel more pleased than anything. “Oh, wipe that smirk off your face.”  


“I – what – I don’t have a _smirk._ ”  


“You do,” she said, “and it’s ridiculous how much of myself I see in you, dear _God._ ” He continued to smile, triumphant, while her eyes twinkled happily. “So,” she asked, “how’s Dean?”  


Something about it made Castiel smile. Maybe it was the fact that he was being asked about Dean – not just absently mentioning a random little thing – that made him think about how much of their day had gone.  


When they kissed in the arcade. When Sam insisted that Dean bring him home because he could handle the ‘googly eyes.’ When Dean’s ears looked _pink_ when he bravely took Castiel’s hand – and they held hands while he drove them to the craft store. When Dean towed him around the craft store, insisting that they had to get more creative molds than “ _fucking ducks, Cas!_ ”  


When Dean finally drove him home, and they both gravitated towards each other in their third kiss. “Sooo,” said Dean, his smile bright. “I’ll – I’ll see you, Cas.”  


“Yes, you will,” Castiel had agreed. He had been smiling like an idiot the whole time, thinking about the promise of a date with Dean Winchester. “Goodbye, Dean.”  


“Bye, Cas.”  


And then, when Castiel still didn’t leave the car, and they kissed – only to stop when they were both giggling so much that it wasn’t much of a kiss to begin with.  


Castiel remembered all of this, his cheeks tingling. He felt – hyper, in a way that he hadn’t ever thought himself capable of. Was this was liking someone was supposed to feel like? Because it felt – intense. Wonderfully and dauntingly intense, and he wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do with all of these… _feelings_.  


“Oh,” said Naomi, bringing Castiel back into the present – and making him realize that, for almost an entire minute, he hadn’t answered her question; he’d simply smiled like a fucking idiot, staring at the bag from the craft store. “Okay, then.”  


“I – wait,” said Castiel, his cheeks reddening for a whole new reason. His mom was the one grinning now. “Stop it! Wait, what – Dean is – Dean is – he’s _fine,_ I – okay, stop it, I got – I got lost in a train of thought!”  


Chuckling, his mother nodded. “Yes, you did,” she agreed unforgivingly.  


“Mom,” he insisted, his voice unfortunately akin to whining, “stop.”  


“I didn’t say anything!” she said, even as she laughed and laughed.  


“I – I am going to bed,” he snapped.  


“Okay, Castiel.”  


“ _Stop it_.”  


“Good night, Honey Bee,” she said.  


Taking off his sweater, he huffed. “Ugh,” he replied, his cheeks still feeling warm.  


“Oh, and honey?”  


“ _Yes,_ Mom?”  


“Congratulations.”  


“I am _ignoring you._ ” 

  


The next time Castiel found himself sitting through a horror movie, he startled at all the usual points. At any scene of tension or immense suspense, he would jump – and glare at Dean for laughing.  


“Shut up,” he said, elbowing Dean.  


“Aww, Cas,” said his – boyfriend? – with a cute giggle-snort that made Castiel laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand.”  


“Will you, really?”  


“Hmm.” Dean reached between them, taking Castiel’s hand in his. His thumb lightly traced over the top of Castiel’s knuckles, his eyes full of nothing but fondness. “This okay?”  


Unlike the other several times they had been caught underneath a blanket together, there wasn’t a terrible amount of space separating them. Instead, Castiel kept his head against Dean’s chest – and no horror movie could truly taint the movie, he figured, when he was with Dean.  


Looking at their intertwined fingers on Dean’s lap, Castiel smiled. Leaning up and catching Dean’s lips with his own, he used his free hand to hold Dean’s cheek comfortably. Dean hummed into the kiss, immensely pleased –  


And then, suddenly, Dean pulled away, squeezing Castiel’s hand. “Oooohh, hey,” he said, pecking a short kiss onto Castiel’s forehead. “This part is, like, _awesome._ ”  


“ _Really,_ Dean?”  


“What?” asked Dean. Then, pausing, he grinned. “Oh, wait – I’m sorry, did you want to make out instead of watching the horror movie? That it, Casanova?”  


Castiel’s face felt red. “I – did _not_ say – _that – !_ ”  


“It’s – it’s _Saw,_ Cas,” insisted Dean. “I mean, I’m all for it, but – I don’t really think this movie is very good background noise for that.”  


“You could pause it,” suggested Castiel diplomatically – only for Dean to laugh at him. “You know what? Fine! I’m not kissing you.” He turned away from Dean promptly, stewing in silence and ignoring Dean poking at him.  


“Awww, Caaaaaasss,” whined Dean, “I’m _flattered._ ”  


“Shut up, Dean.”  


“No, really,” said Dean. “I changed my mind. I can pause the movie, babe.”  


“I am _not your ‘babe,’_ ” said Castiel, “and I am going to punch you if you keep talking.”  


Dean kissed the side of his neck from behind, making Castiel jump.  


“Dean!” he cried, scandalized.  


“What?” said Dean. “I stopped talking, didn’t I?”  


The movie was paused. Castiel tried to yell at Dean, but – he was not taken very seriously, though, due to all his laughter. In fact, his joking attempts to tell Dean off went largely unheard. They ended up horizontal on the couch, with Dean on top of Castiel and doing all sorts of things to make him laugh out loud.  


It wasn’t until the door to the house opened that Dean finally – blessedly – returned to his own personal space bubble. As Sam and Jo both made it up the stairs, they peered their heads above the bannister at the pair on the couch.  


“Hello,” said Castiel politely, hoping that his face wasn’t as red as he assumed. “How are you two?”  


Both of them looked entirely displeased. Jo, of course, was the one who replied first: “The windows are open. We heard, like, _way_ too much of that.”  


“I – s-sorry – ?”  


“Leave him alone,” said Dean defensively, shooting her a glare. “What we do when we think nobody is home is our business.”  


“You’re both nauseating,” answered Jo shortly. “I’m locking myself in my room. You better not get weird if I want to get something from the kitchen. I _mean it_.”  


“We are not going to – !” started Dean, only to be cut off by Jo’s bedroom door slamming.  


Awkwardly, Sam looked between Castiel and Dean. For the most part, he looked relieved – almost as if the entire drama (or lack thereof) between Dean and Castiel had been particularly important to him. In a way, he’d been rooting for them since the very beginning.  


Still. That didn’t mean he wanted to see his brother in any sort of – _yeah,_ no thanks.  


“What she said,” said Sam, turning tail and running away before the myriad of explicits from Dean could erupt.  


They were alone once again. For a moment, Dean seemed particularly annoyed – only to be replaced by the realization that he had Castiel all to himself. At the dangerous look in Dean’s eyes, Castiel grinned. “You’re a _child,_ ” he said.  


“I am your _favorite,_ ” said Dean, leaning into Castiel’s space and kissing him once more.  


“I thought we were watching this movie,” complained Castiel stubbornly.  


“You’d rather watch a slasher horror film than make out with me?” asked Dean, entirely aghast. “Come on – at least make up a convincing argument, if you’re gonna try that.”  


There were certain things about horror movies that Castiel found enjoyable, lately. The last few slasher and suspense films they had watched ended like this – with Dean’s fingers playing with Castiel’s hair absently, until a certain jumpscare really got to Castiel, motivating them both into a kiss, which would lead to…  


“Hey!” gasped Dean, sitting up suddenly and pulling away from Castiel. “You know what’s the absolute _best_ idea?”  


“Um – never watching a movie with you ever again?” suggested Castiel. “Seriously, you have the attention span of a chipmunk.”  


“Th – _well_ ,” said Dean, “I guess I won’t go anywhere near you, next time you’re shitting your pants during these movie nights.”  


“Wh – _no,_ just – Ugh. _Dean!_ ”  


“Oh, yeah,” drawled Dean, “now I have your attention.”  


Blatantly irritated, Castiel elbowed his boyfriend in the stomach. On the one hand, Dean could be quite annoying when he wanted to be. It was always at the most inconvenient times, too. On the other hand, though, he truly did appreciate what they had. Perhaps it was the overarching theme of a ‘first love’ over their heads, but it all felt so… _perfect._  


“What was your grand idea?” demanded Castiel.  


“I was thinking,” said Dean, “that I could _totally_ go for some pie, right about now.”  


“Right _now?_ Dean, it’s – it’s seven o’clock at night!”  


“So?” said Dean. “I got a car, I have you, and they’re open. C’mon, we can make a whole adventure out of it!”  


“But – !” Castiel let out a pathetic sound, gesturing to their blankets and the spot where his shoulder was leaning against Dean’s chest. “I am _comfortable_ here.”  


“ _Cas!_ ”  


“Hey!” barked Castiel. “It’s cozy, okay? I happen to like it when we watch movies like this.”  


“You mean – horror movies?” asked Dean, slowly grinning. “You know, ‘cause – we always end up cuddling, one way or another?”  


“I hate you and your dumb face. Stop laughing at me.”  


Dean, of course, laughed raucously at this. “Caaaas,” he whined, tugging at his arm, “come on! I promise, we’ll eat pie and get coffee, then we’ll go back to watching this movie. Back in a flash!”  


Pausing, Castiel weighed his options. While he was certainly content to just lay on the couch, snuggled with Dean under the blankets while a scary movie played in the background, he also knew how bitchy Dean could become when he realized he wanted pie. Plus, coffee sounded more and more like a better idea the more he thought about it. “I… I _suppose_ that we could – ,”  


“Yeeeeeeees!”  


“ – stop by, _quickly_ ,” insisted Castiel. “I do have a curfew, remember?”  


“I know, I know,” said Dean. “Don’t worry, Castiella. We’ll have you back home by Midnight, no problem.”  


“My curfew is _eleven_ , Dean.”  


“Fuck, Cas, I _know that_. Christ, your dad would probably kill me if I took you home at midnight – I was making a joke, dude.”  


“Oh. I didn’t – get it.”  


There was a moment of Silence. Then – “Fucking _Cinderella?_ ” cried Dean. “Your parents are _insane!_ ”  


“I – No, they’re not!” insisted Castiel. “They just – Okay, how is it not unusual to let your child grow up with all of these expectations about life, like the idea that someone is magically going to swoop in and save the day? Fairytales are ridiculous – that’s probably the only thing my parents are I agree on, when it comes to my upbringing.”  


“Oh, my God,” said Dean. “I don’t know why I’m so offended, but – _Fuck it_ , yes, I do! You’re basically – attacking my childhood!”  


“Well – you’re attacking _mine!_ ”  


“Yeah, well – fuck off,” said Dean, “I’m _totally right._ ”  


“You are not!”  


“Jesus Christ,” muttered Dean. Annoyed, he threw the blanket off them both. Upon hearing Castiel’s wounded cry of sadness at this, he relented with a sigh and gave him a small kiss on the forehead. “Get your ass up. We are not done talking about this!”  


As they headed out to the car, they continued to argue.  


“So,” said Dean, “your thing against Disney movies is that they’re unrealistic, when you – like – believe in an almighty higher-power created the Universe? The fuck does that work?”  


“This is not a theology debate,” snapped Castiel. “It’s simply the fact that life is not a fairytale. So, yes, Dean; I believe in God, and I believe in _many things_ that you do not. But I trust that neither of us believe in – say – fairy godmothers dressed in bubblegum pink robes, fire-breathing dragons – ,”  


“Naw,” said Dean, “but – gotta admit, dragons would be pretty dope.”  


“This,” said Castiel to himself, “is what I get for dating a Dungeons & Dragons geek.”  


“Okay, _fuck you_ , very much,” snapped Dean. “Now, get in the car. We’re getting pie.”  


They got pie and bickered some more.  


“What about, like – Bambi?” demanded Dean. “It’s not even a fairytale. It’s as realistic as it gets, Cas. _For the love of God,_ tell me you’ve seen _Bambi!_ ”  


“I mean, I’ve heard of it,” said Castiel. “The Internet and our entire generation are a force to be reckoned with, you know.”  


As they shared a slice of strawberry pie. Since Dean had forced Castiel to so abruptly leave the house, he offered to let Castiel chose the flavor – so he chose his favorite. Of course, it was rather funny that they went through the trouble of Castiel choosing, since Dean was the one eating most of it.  


“Well, it’s decided,” said Dean. “After we finish watching Saw, we are watching every Disney movie under the fucking Sun.”  


“… No.”  


“ _Yes,_ ” insisted Dean. “Christ, Cas – how have you gone sixteen years without watching any of them? They’re, like, integral to building a kid’s character, these days!”  


Sighing, Castiel shrugged. “I… admit,” he said, “children do tend to pick up role models from films or books that help shape who they’ll become. But, again – that’s children. I am not a child. It makes no sense to have me watch them _now._ ”  


“It totally makes sense. We’re doing it.”  


“No,” said Castiel, “we are _not._ ”  


“Why not?”  


“Dean. I am gay, but I am not _that gay_. I am not – watching Disney princess movies with my boyfriend, after school!” squeaked Castiel. “This – I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation!”  


Dean shoveled a particularly large piece of pie into his mouth. With his mouth still full, he said something.  


“Chew first, imbecile.”  


“I _said,_ ” reiterated Dean, “that ‘gay’ has nothing to do with it. Plus, not every Disney movie has princesses in it. I mean – there is a right and there is a wrong here, Cas, and you _know_ it.”  


Castiel frowned deeply at the remains of their strawberry pie. He truly did not want to have to go through the many hours of those needless animated films – but, if it made Dean actually happy…  


“Fine,” said Castiel shortly.  


“That’s the spirit!” said Dean, positively beaming.  


“I am not going to be happy about it, nor will I particularly enjoy these movies,” said Castiel, “but _fine_.”  


Dean hummed, eyeing Castiel fondly. “Yeah, babe,” he said, “I hear ‘ya. But – you realize, though, that that’s exactly how you felt about all the movies we’ve been watching since we started this, right?”  


“Nngh,” said Castiel through a bite of pie. “Stop using logic to combat my stubbornness. It’s exhausting – just accept the fact that I’m begrudgingly accepting your invite to a Disney marathon, or several, since – _God_ knows how many of those films exist by now.”  


Pamela walked over just then, placing a small black booklet folder onto the table. She grinned at the boys, fonder than anything. “Take you time, boys,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”  


“Sure thing, Pam. Thanks.”  


“Thank you,” said Castiel politely to her retreating figure. Then, to Dean, he sighed. “So – Disney movies, then? Tomorrow, after school?”  


“Sounds like a date,” agreed Dean, with the last morsel of strawberry pie on his fork. “And – don’t worry. Even if there are no jumpscares, I’ll still hold your hand.”  


Castiel smiled despite his best efforts. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”  


“Ah, darling, I don’t doubt that in the _slightest._ ”  


  


**le finis**

**Author's Note:**

> you made it!!!  
> ~~~  
> THANK YOU. I cannot express it enough how deeply touched I am from the feedback of any story of mine, and this series has made me feel extremely proud. You guys seem to like it. I hope you liked the second part.  
> If not - on the bright side, the futures of these characters are in your hands, and how you imagine their lives unfold...  
> 


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